#it’s sherlock and a million other things all over again and i am so sick of it!!!!!

[tartheanmaid]

i need all tomgreg people right now to like stop being so weird about shiv

[islesnucks]

hi bae can i request a barzy blurb based on dress by taylor swift? ty 🥺

a taylor swift song inspired barzy fic? hell yeah that’s like my two favorite things in the word together

requests are open so go send something if you feel like 

also this turned out a bit longer than I expected

I DON'T WANT YOU LIKE A BEST FRIEND - MAT BARZAL X READER

Word Count: 1.9 k

Warning: none

Summary: after Mat introduces you as his best friend and it affects you more than it should, you end up confessing your feelings for him 

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His words hadn’t left your mind the whole night, they were on loop, replaying over and over in your brain. ‘This is Y/N, one of my best friends.’ That’s how Mat had introduced you when you arrived at his family’s friend’s wedding, to which he had invited you as he’s plus one.

You knew you and Mat were just friends, you have been for a long time, and it surely wasn’t the first time he introduced you like that. Maybe this time hit differently because you had just come to terms with the undeniable fact that you had fallen for your best friend, no matter how cliché that sounded.

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when it happened. It just happened slowly without you even realizing. Suddenly seeing him hit on random girls at the bar made you feel sick. Suddenly his hand on your lower back guiding you through a crowded room felt different. Suddenly your name coming from his lips made the world stop. You didn’t know what turned the switch in your brain from platonic to romantic love and made you look at him with new eyes, but once you realized it there was no going back and the thought of Mat and you becoming something more was always there painfully present in the back of your head.

“Y/N?” you heard Mat call you, bringing you back to reality. You looked at him still a bit lost in your thoughts. ”Are you okay?” he asked with his eyes stuck on the windshield as he drove you home after the wedding had ended.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been a little off all night.” He noticed, he obviously did. Because he’s Mat, he’s your best friend, he’s one of the most attentive guys you know and he knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. So he obviously noticed, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t keep on pretending.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you replied failing to sound as confident as you wanted to. Mat didn’t say anything and the car fell back into silence. 

You looked outside the window, trying to distract yourself and calm down. You weren’t far away from your place, in just a few minutes you’d be in your apartment. Mat had noticed something but he didn’t know what it was, so you could send him a text explaining you had a headache or something to get him off your back and just move on.

At least that was the plan but then Mat turned off the car and got out of it with you. You thought he was walking you to the building door like he had done many times, nothing strange. However he walked into the building with you and got into the elevator.

That’s when you started to suspect something was happening. You looked over at him confused and he just smiled at you, like nothing was going on. So maybe he was just walking you to the door. You decided not to think too much into it because if you did your heart would start racing and would notice your nerves, the last thing you needed was to give him more reasons to believe something was going on.

As you opened the door Mat was quick to walk into your apartment and you watched him with furrowed brows as he took a seat on your couch, casually like there was nothing weird with it.

“Excuse me? Can I help you with something?” you asked, stepping in front of him.

“I know something’s up Y/N. You barely talked today and you didn’t cry, I’ve seen you cry at stupid commercials and you didn’t cry at a wedding.”

You rolled your eyes walking away from him because you knew you couldn’t lie to his face, he’d notice. “I’m fine Mat I promised I just had a headache.”

“No you didn’t. When you have a headache you massage your head and you get sleepy, that’s not what happened today. It’s more like you were gone.” You hated how much he knew you, it would be harder to convince him but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try.

“Well I’m sorry I don’t always have the same gestures Sherlock.” you replied, irritation was clear in your tone. Mat let out a deep sigh and got up. It wasn’t his intention to argue and he could see you were getting mad, he just wanted to know what was going on.

“Y/N I know you-” he started to say as he approached you but you were tired of hearing that speech.

“Can we not do this right now? I’m tired Mat, I just wanna go to bed.” you said with a defeated look, lowering your town. He looked at you for a minute and decided to push his stubbornness aside. He knew he was right, he’d bet a million dollars on it, but he also knew you were exhausted, he could see it in your face.

Mat walked till he was in front of you, inches away, and suddenly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. He held you tight as one hand went up to your hair to stroke it. You were surprised at first but then he felt you relax in his embrace. He placed a kiss on top of your head as he balanced slightly from one side to the other, keeping his face buried in your hair.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on okay? Because I know something happened, don’t even try to pretend it didn’t. I just wanna know if it’s something I did, that’s all I need to know because I can’t leave you here alone knowing I may have done something to upset you.”

His voice was soft as he spoke against you. Tears started to build up in your eyes and you tried to push them away as you debated what your next move would be.

If you told him it wasn’t about him he'd leave and you could move on pretending nothing happened and dealing with your unresolved feelings. If you told him the truth you didn’t know what would happen. However you knew that regardless of how he felt about you he’d be nice to you. The man was hugging you tight about his chest, refusing you to leave until you told him it wasn’t his fault because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he did anything to hurt you.

Maybe it was the wine you had drank. Maybe it was because you were emotionally exhausted and unable to think clearly. Or maybe because you were tired of pretending. You didn’t know the reason why you decided to be honest and tell him how you truly felt, but you did that.

“You introduced me as your best friend today, that’s why I was off the whole day, I just kept thinking about it.” you mumbled against his chest, breaking the silence.

“Did you want me to introduce you differently?” He pulled away a little to be able to look you in the face, but his arms were still around you.

“Yes- I mean no. I-” You stumbled on your words, trying to find the right way to explain everything. “What you did was fine, I am your best friend, that’s right.”

“Then why did it upset you?” You rested your head face against his chest again, not having the courage to look him in the face as you confessed what you were about to confess.

“Cause I don't want you like a best friend Mat. I haven’t for a while now and I just don’t know how to deal with this. It’s not your fault, I don’t know what happened or when or how. I have these feelings for you and I guessed it hurt a bit to hear you calling me your best friend, even though that’s exactly what I am.”

After you spoke the room went silent again and you started panicking. You looked up at Mat who was already looking down at you and all you could see was shock. Suddenly your worst fear was real, you had screwed up your friendship with him. It was over. You felt the familiar knot in your throat and tears blurred your vision.

“Sorry ignore everything I said. Just forget it okay?” you said as you freed yourself from his embrace. Still no reaction whatsoever from him. “Shit. Shit. Shit. I feel so stupid.”

“Y/N.” he said, but you were too distracted pacing around the room and rambling to hear him.

“You know I even spent hours shopping for the perfect dress that would magically make you see me as more than your friend, do you know how stupid that sound? What am I? 15 years old?”

“Y/N listen-” he tried again but there was no getting to you, you were too lost in your own jabber. It was like once you started you couldn’t stop and you’d surely later regret all you were confessing.

“I’m an idiot. I really thought you could maybe by some miracle feel the same and-”

“Y/N!” he said now in a much louder tone so you would hear him and place his hands on your sides to stop you. You were surprised, not even realizing he had approached you at some point.

“Please stop.” he added now on a lower more tender tone, it almost sounded like a plea.

Now that you looked at him the initial shock had been replaced by something you couldn’t make out. His face was unreadable as he stated leaning in and before you could even question what was going on his lips were on yours.

You were surprised at first, eyes wide open not being to process what was going on. But once the initial shock was over you kissed him back. It’s embarrassing how many times you had thought what kissing him would be like, but it turned out to be even better than you could have imagined. His lips caressed yours gently, even a bit shily. Your hands met on the back of his neck and his slid down your sides to your waist, pulling you closer. 

Then a thought found its way into your brain.

“Wait.” you mumbled against his lips and he instantly pulled away. “I need to know you’re not doing this out of pity.”

He chuckled letting his head fall back before answering. “I’m doing this because I also don’t want you like a best friend. Because you do look amazing in that dress. Because I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long now. Because-” 

Your smile grew wider with every word and your cheeks turned red. You could tell he planned to keep on going, and you were surely going to ask him to tell you the rest later, but now there was only one thing you wanted.

“Ok, ok. I get it. We can go back to kissing now.” you said making him laugh, already tugging him closer by his neck and his laughs died in your lips.

-

hope you liked it! likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

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[khoicesbyk]

Beloved.

A/N: I'm officially obsessed with Wolf Bride and what does one do when she's obsessed with a certain book? She writes an AU about it! 😁 So, Talley Ho! *in my Sherlock Holmes voice*

Rated: Mature. | Contains sexual content and strong language. (You know? The usual from me. 😁) | Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters. | Main Characters: Roman (LI) and Naia Evans (MC) | All Characters and names: (except MC and certain original characters, created by me) are property of Pixelberry.

Current Word Count: 3,970 words. (more or less. I stop counting after editing and re-editing. 🤷🏾‍♀️)

Prompt Time! Using @theworldofprompts story prompt of “You get put into an arranged marriage, only to find that the person you're engaged to....is a shapeshifter.”

Missing a chapter or want to read a chapter again? I got you covered! Click ——> Here

Song And Story Inspiration: Burn Slow-Ro James. | Survivor-2WEI feat Edda Hayes

Tag List: @shewillreadyou @choiceslady @txemrn @pixie88 @secretaryunpaid @aussieez @lucy-268 @bebepac @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @otherworldlypresents @hopefulmoonobject @theworldofprompts @choicesficwriterscreations

This series is rated Mature. It is NOT reading material that is safe for those under 18. Reader discretion is STRONGLY advised!

This series may contain spoilers. If you wish not to see spoilers, please do not read any further.

(Also this series is a slight deviation of the original story. In the original story, the werewolf hunter is a woman. But in this series the hunter is a man.)

If you’d like to be added to my tag list. Just reblog or dm me and I will gladly add you. 😁😘

Chapter 6.) Burn Slow.

Oohh... Shit… How you wanna feel? Do you want it raw? Do you want it real? Ima give it to ya. Ima give it to ya real honest. Yeah...

You ain't never had it like this before. Roll in my sheets while we rolling paper. Trying to get you higher than them scrapers. Catching vibes, catching vapors. You should call in sick. You should call in favors. I promise...

When Naia came to Hunt’s Peak it was to learn why her mother left and why she never wanted to talk about it. Never in a million years did she think that she’d meet Roman, who is the man she had been dreaming about for weeks. Nor did she think she’d meet Trent. A mystery man that enchanted her the first time she met him.

She definitely didn’t think she’d be kidnapped. But that’s exactly what happened. She was in the back of a white van with a hood over her head and her feet bound by zip ties. She had no idea where they were or where they were taking her. Wherever they were it was off road because she felt every bump they went over.

“Ow dammit!” She hissed as she hit her head on the floor.

When the van came to a sudden stop, Naia had one plan. She was going to run like hell and not look back. When the doors opened she knew it was now or never.

“Come! It’s time for the preparations to begin!” The man commanded.

“Eat a dick! I’m not going anywhere!” She hissed.

“We’re wasting time!” The woman said to her.

“Does it look like I care? Matter of fact does it sound like I care?” Naia asks.

Rather than answer, the man yanked Naia out of the van and threw her over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” Naia shouted.

The two ignored her as they walked her down a strange path. Naia tried but couldn’t wriggle herself out of his grip.

“Goddamn this idiot is stronger than he looks. But I have to get away! I need to get away.” Naia thought to herself as she struggled to get free.

They came to a stop and the next thing Naia knew, she was being thrown onto a bed.

“SERIOUSLY?!”

Neither one answered her, instead the woman ripped the zip ties off with a yank. It scared Naia to witness how strong both of them were.

“This is where you will be until the ceremony at sundown.” The man told her.

“Sundown?! You can’t just leave me here!”

Both left her in the room alone, scared and confused.

She looked around the room to get her bearings, it was set up like a guest bedroom. Complete with candles on the wall, a plush bed and a fireplace. The room had no windows and the entrance was a stone door that she couldn’t move.

“I came all the way to West Virginia to learn why my mom left and I got kidnapped!” She says to herself.

Naia was just about to give up before remembering that her cell phone was in her pocket. When she pulled it out though, there was no signal.

“Well this is absolutely peachy!” She fussed.

As she looked around the room, she found herself slightly impressed.

“Not my taste but not bad.” Naia thought to herself.

She didn’t know what it was but something called her to the bed. She wasn’t tired but she felt the pull to rest. When she laid down her mind was lulled into a peaceful rest. It didn’t take long for her to doze off and dream.

You ain't never had it like this before. So don't you lie. Don't you tell me that you gotta go to work baby. Cause I can pay you for the whole week in bed. I just wanna get lost with you. That mean you belong to me. I wanna wake up.

Waking up to you in the morning. It's better than sunrise. So we can keep the curtains closed. Just light a few more candles and burn em' slow. Baking up with you in the morning. Trying to get a little rewind. Cause I ain't really ready to let you go. No no no no no No no no… Just light a few more candles and burn em' slow.

Elsewhere Roman was preparing for the ceremony himself. With Noemi at his side, Roman was eager to prepare.

“My my! You are eager, my child.” She said to him. She was like a grandmother to him.

“Indeed I am. I have waited for this day for so long, Speaker.”

“What are you most eager about Roman?” She asks.

“It is our bonding ceremony, Speaker. We will finally be together. I am eager to finally welcome her home.” He replied.

“This is indeed a momentous occasion. But, we mustn’t rush, you must remember that she knows not of our ways.”

“She can learn, yes?” He asked.

“Of course she can. But you mustn’t force her. It will only cause her to recoil and reject.”

“I understand, Speaker.”

“Very good. Now let us prepare.”

Oohh... Shit… Girl that Honey Jack put us on our back. When we on our back we get back to that action. Pour up Pour up. And let us take another round down. So we can get in another round. Yeah… I don't need no breakfast 'less it's you on my face. (Then we wake and we bake)

Waking up to you in the morning. It's better than sunrise. So we can keep the curtains closed. Just light a few more candles and burn em' slow.

Baking up with you in the morning. Trying to get a little rewind. Cause I ain't really ready to let you go. No no no no no No no no… Just light a few more candles and burn em' slow.

Noemi had Roman wade into the sacred springs as she prepared him.

“Mother Earth! Hear my call. Prepare my child for the bond of his Beloved. Open their hearts, minds and souls to receive one another.”

Roman inhaled then exhaled slowly as he closed his eyes. The Primal Magic flooded his being and guided his thoughts and soul to hers. He was transported to her dream. He was in the woods as was she.

Naia didn’t know how she wound up in the woods at night but she wasn’t scared. In fact she felt giddy because this time she was human. She was eager to run. What started out as a brisk walk turned into a jog, that turned into a sprint that turned into a full run.

She felt free as she ran through the woods. The wind in her face and the ground underfoot gave her a sense of invincibility. She felt like nothing could stop her. As she ran, she heard the sound of water. Whether it was the river or the creek she wasn’t sure. But, she followed the sound. She felt the water calling to her.

When she came out of the woods she came to the edge of a lake with a waterfall. She was out of breath but exhilarated. She closed her eyes and let the sound of the roaring waterfall soothe her.

Even with her heart thundering in her chest, she felt this strange sense of calmness. When she opened her eyes and looked out on the water she saw Roman. Only he wasn’t himself, he was a werewolf. He was huge, monstrous and beautiful. He held out his massive hand to her.

“Beloved…”

His voice was a low growl. And it should’ve terrified her but instead she trusted him. She walked to him and wrapped her arms around him and felt his arms embrace her. Her trust in him is strong and absolute. She felt safe, she felt loved and when he stepped back from her, she felt powerful. She watched him throw his massive head back and howl. It was commanding and made the woods around them come alive. When he looked at her with his now golden eyes, she woke up.

When Roman opened his eyes, they were golden and determined.

“Did you see her, my child?” Noemi asked.

“I did.” He replies.

“Are you ready?” She asks.

“Yes. Begin the ceremony.” He replied as he waded out of the springs.

Cause I ain't really ready to let you go. No no no no no… Then we wake and we bake. Waking up to you in the morning. So we can keep the curtains closed. Keep em' closed. Let's burn baby.

Baking up with you in the morning. Rewind Rewind… I just wanna get lost with you. No no no no no No no no… Just light a few more candles and burn em' slow. Ooh Shit…

Naia shot up in the bed breathing heavily with her heart pounding. She frantically looked around the room and quickly remembered where she was. She didn’t know what just happened but whatever did happen in that dream felt real. She was face to face with a werewolf. She was in the arms of a werewolf.

“Impossible. Werewolves don’t exist.” She thought to herself as she tried to make sense of her dream.  

That’s when she heard the stone door move and the man and woman who brought her there entered the room.

“It’s time. The ceremony is beginning!” was all he said.

Naia knew that fighting them was pointless. So, she decided to play along for now and she would find a way to escape later. She followed them out of the room which was connected to a corridor inside a large cave. She saw what was a makeshift kitchen, other pieces of furniture and a massive fireplace. It looked like the living room of The Flintstones.

When she stepped outside with them, it was nighttime. She had been asleep for hours, yet it only felt like she had a 20 minute nap. Naia followed the man and woman through the woods, formulating her escape plan as they walked.

Thought I couldn't breathe without you. I'm inhaling. You thought I couldn't see without you. Perfect vision. You thought I couldn't last without you. But I'm lastin'. You thought that I would die without you. But I'm livin'. Thought that I would fail without you. But I'm on top. Thought it would be over by now. But it won't stop. Thought that I would self destruct. But I'm still here. Even in my years to come. I'm still gon' be here.

They arrived at what she thought was a poor man’s Stonehenge. She saw people standing around the stones and a large fire, chanting in a language that she couldn’t understand. All she knew was she had to find a way to get the hell out of there.

“Ooooooooooooookaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy…I’m in a cult. Yup I’ve been kidnapped into a cult.” She said quietly. Or so she thought.

“Quiet girl! This is no time for jokes!” The man snapped at her, before he and the woman joined the group that was chanting.

Naia looked around for a way to escape. And when she found it she knew all she had to do was turn around and run. That’s when she saw Roman. He was dressed in leather and body paint. When they locked eyes her heart did backflips. He took her breath away.

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn! This is creepy as all hell but sheesh! He’s fine as wine!” She thought to herself as she looked at him. She couldn’t help but notice every last one of his muscles.

There was something about him that turned her fear into curiosity. Any plan she had to run like hell was gone. She just stood there frozen in place. Her eyes never left him.

“We have been waiting for you.” He said to her. His voice was low and commanding. As the others around them chanted, Roman spoke again.

“Precious Mother Earth, we have gathered here to welcome Naia home to us. With her now returned to us the Pack is and will be stronger. We will thrive with her among us. We thank you! We worship you! May you live and flourish within us all.”

Naia thought she was seeing things when she watched his eyes turn golden. Roman had his arms outstretched to her.

“Come to me Beloved…”

“Roman I—“

She felt like she was in a trance by his words as she walked to him. She felt she was a puppet that was being controlled by someone else. She was beyond terrified but at the same time she felt that fear was irrational. She knew that he wouldn’t hurt her. Nor would he ever allow anyone else to hurt her. She knew she was safe as long as she had him.

When she felt his arms wrap around her, she felt like she did in her dreams. Loved, desired, needed and wanted. She felt at home in his arms. She could feel his warmth, love and devotion for her as they stood locked in each other’s arms. Whatever thought she had of running for the hills was long gone.

“Do not be afraid, Beloved. I’m here.”

“I don’t understand how any of this is happening.”

He tipped her chin up to look into her eyes. His gaze was deep and smoldering and made her knees weak. As weird and frightening as all of this was to her, she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else but there in his arms. He rested his head against hers which put her at ease. Listening to his breathing calmed her own.

“Welcome home Beloved.” He whispered softly to her.  

She looked up at him and was lost in his eyes. He took advantage of the moment and kissed her. The passion, force, intensity and power behind his kiss was intoxicating. She wanted more. She needed more. She wanted him. Their kiss ended because something was wrong. She felt a pull towards someone else. It was powerful enough to make her stagger.

“Beloved? What is it?” He asked her.

“Roman…something…is…wrong…” she replies before losing consciousness.

When she woke up the next morning, she was dizzy, disoriented and her head was pounding. Thankfully Roman was by her side.

“Beloved are you awake?” He asked her.

“Yes.” She said in a voice just above a whisper. She was holding the side of her head.

“Are you hurt?” He asked.

“It’s just a headache.” She replies.

“Still…drink.”

He handed her a cup of water. After drinking the water she was able to get her bearings.

“How did I wind up back in this room?” She asked.

“This is our room.” He replies.

“Our room? Where are we?” She asks.

“The den Beloved.” He replied.

“I was here earlier. I was brought and left here.”

“Yes I know. I apologize for that.”

“You knew I was here and never said anything?!” She asked.

“Yes but let me explain. I gave Jett and Isobel the command to bring you here.” He replies.

“You mean you told them to kidnap me?” She asked.

“Yes I did. I had no idea that they would treat you the way that they did. And for that I am deeply sorry. I want you to know that I have no reason to lie to you, Naia.” He replied.

Naia sat completely still trying to process what Roman had just told her. He openly and honestly admitted to having her kidnapped. And she needed to know why.

I'm a survivor. I'm not gon' give up. I'm not gon' stop, oh. I'm gon' work harder. I'm a survivor. I'm not gon' give up. I'm not gon' stop, oh. I'm gon' work harder. I'm the survivor. I'm gonna make it. I will survive. Keep on survivin'.

“If you wanted to see me all you had to do was ask.” She said with a teasing smirk.

“I can’t apologize to you enough. How can I make it up to you?” He asks while taking her right hand in his. His touch was electric and warmed her skin.

“Tell me why I was brought here? What is all of this?” She asked.

“Today was our bonding ceremony, Beloved.” He replies.

“Our bonding ceremony? I don’t understand. What does that mean?” She asked.

“Our hearts, our minds and our souls are connected forever. We are bonded until the end of time.” He replies.

“Like an arranged marriage?” She asks.

“Not exactly. Just an awakening of what was always meant to be between us. You are mine Naia and I am yours. Always and forever.” He replies.

“I believe you. As weird as all of this is to me.”

She could feel the sincerity in his voice. Something in his tone and poster relaxed her. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was intrigued by him.

“Come. It is time for you to meet your people, Naia.”

He stood up holding his hand out to her.

“Let me show you what you were meant to find.”

She took his hand trusting him just as she did in her dreams. She spent the day getting to know everybody. Most like Layla, Callum, Noemi and Grayson seemed nice while others like Isobel, Jett and Barrett left much to be desired. By the end of the day, Naia was tired but not sleepy. Not yet anyway. Roman found her sitting in front of the fireplace in the bedroom, lost in her own thoughts.

“You seem distracted, Beloved.”

“Just trying to process everything that I’ve learned today. That’s all.”

“Come. Allow me to show you something.”

They walked out of the den and to a clearing in the surrounding woods. When they sat down in the grass, they looked up and saw the stars clear as day.

“I wanted to show you this.”

“It’s beautiful! I love to stargaze.”

“Do you Beloved?” He asks.

“Yes! My daddy bought me a telescope when I was a kid and we would look up at the stars with it. My love for the stars inspired my tattoo.” She replies.

He cocked an eyebrow at her then asked, “you have a tattoo?”

She gave him a small smile before moving her hair out of the way, to reveal a tattoo of butterflies and stars along the back of her left shoulder blade.

“It’s beautiful. What does it mean?” He asks.

“The stars represent my dreams and the butterflies represent freedom. And together they mean the freedom to follow my dreams.” She replies.

They went back to looking at the stars. She felt him wrap his arms around her and pull her closer to his chest. She relished in the warmth that came from being close to him. When a shooting star streaked across the sky, both looked up.

“Make a wish, Naia.” He whispered softly in a husky voice. She closed her eyes and made a wish.

“What did you wish for?” He asked.

“I’m not telling you! That would ruin the wish.” She replies.

“I bet that I can guess what you wished for.”

“Oh yeah? What did I wish for Roman?” She challenged him.

He tilted her chin up and kissed her. The kiss was soft yet deep and powerful. For the second time in less than a day, Roman took her breath away. When the kiss ended she was desperate for him.

“That is what you wished for Beloved.” He whispered against her lips.

“Damn…you’re good.”

While her brain was screaming for her to run, her heart kept her in his arms. She was right where she needed to be in that moment. A yawn indicated that she was getting tired.

“It’s late. You should rest.”

“I am not the least bit sleepy.” She said as she yawned again.

“Come Beloved.”

“But I want to stay out here with you.” She whined.

He shook his head at her and smiled. She was perfect to him.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was getting sleepy. It only took 20 minutes for her to doze off. He tightened his arms around her. In one motion, he stood up with her in his arms. He carried her back to the den and put her to bed.

When she woke up the next morning, Roman was gone. As she scanned the room she noticed a giant paw print on the ground. But there wasn’t a dog in sight. The print was wider than her hand.

“Ooooooooooooookaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy apparently there are very big dogs here too…this place just gets weirder and weirder.” She thought to herself as she walked into the main den.

“There you are!” Layla called out to her.

“Layla! You’re here too?” Naia asked.

“I live here.” She replied proudly.

“Why didn’t you tell me about all of this?” Naia asked.

“Because much like everyone else, I thought you already knew. I heard about what happened.” Layla replies.

“You thought I knew about this?” Naia asked.

“I thought your uncle told you that the bonding ceremony would happen.” Layla replies.

“So he knew about this too? Who doesn’t know?” Naia asks, clearly frustrated.

“To be honest, I’m sure the whole town knows.” Layla replies with a shrug.

“Yuuuuup. This whole place is weird. Just weird.”

Layla chuckled.

“How has Roman treated you?” Layla asks.

“He’s made me feel comfortable and welcomed and he’s given me space.” Naia replied.

“Well that explains the look on your face.”

Naia blushed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh. Then why are your cheeks flushed?” Layla asks.

“They aren’t flushed.” Naia replies in protest.

Layla just smirked at her.

“Where is everyone?” Naia asked.

“On a hunt. They’ll be back soon.” Layla replies.

The two chatted and laughed until the Pack returned from a successful hunt.

Later that evening, Naia found herself walking along a creek watching the sun set behind the clouds. That’s when she ran into Trent.

“Naia! There you are!” He said in relief.

“Where else would I be?” She asks.

“I went by your uncle’s place and he said he hasn’t seen you in days. So I figured I’d check near the den to see if you were there.” He replied.

“Well yeah. That’s where I’ve been.”

“Are you alright? Have they hurt you?” He asked.

Naia noticed the panicked urgency in his voice.

“I’m fine and no, they haven’t hurt me.” She replied.

“We have to get you out of here! You’re in danger.”

“From what?” She asks.

“Roman isn’t who you think he is. He’s dangerous Naia. You need to get away now.” He replies.

“What are you doing here?” Roman asks. His voice was booming. And he was flanked by Callum, Jett and Barrett.

“Naia’s coming with me. I’m sure you won’t have a problem with that. After all, you were the one who had her kidnapped!” Trent snapped at him.

“Leave now!”

“Happily! As long as she comes with me.”

“Do NOT test me Trent!”

“Or what?” Trent asked, challenging Roman.

Before Naia could intervene, Roman let out a howl and started to transform along with the others. The muscles on his body contorted, claws and hair sprouted as he grew bigger. Naia watched in complete horror as Roman went from human to a full on werewolf right before her eyes. Trent on the other hand drew his gun.

“Well! Well! Well! If it ain’t the Big Bad Wolf! I wondered when you’d make an appearance.” Trent said, almost giddy.

“She…is…mine!” Roman growled.

“HA! Not if I have anything to say about it!” Trent said through gritted teeth.

I'm a survivor. I'm not gon' give up. I'm not gon' stop, oh. I'm gon' work harder. I'm the survivor. I'm gonna make it. I will survive. Keep on survivin'.

Naia stood frozen in absolute fear. She couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. Roman is an actual werewolf.

[student-by-day]

oh, another tag game

thanks to @hae-des <33

rules: answer the questions about 2020, and tag some people to pass it on!

five favorite films you watched in 2020?

pride and prejudice (2005)

pirates of the caribbean: the curse of the black pearl (...again, 2003)

jane eyre (1997)

dead poets society (1989)

perks of being a wallflower (2012)

five favorite TV shows you watched in 2020?

peaky blinders (2013)

sherlock (2010)

blood of zeus (2020)

...idk; those were like the only shows i watched

five favorite songs you listened to in 2020?

“why do you love me” by charlotte lawrence

“euphoria” by bülow

“gottasadae” by bewhy

“vicious” by tate mcrae

"holding out for a hero” by nothing but thieves

top five albums of 2020?

when we all fall asleep, where do we go? by billie eilish

the movie star by bewhy

garrett vs. paganini by david garrett (again)

divenire by ludovico einaudi (again)

citizens of glass and aventine by agnes obel

am by arctic monkeys

(there are more, but this is already too many)

top five books you read in 2020?

the wise man’s fear by patrick rothfuss

vicious by v.e. schwab

the little prince by antoine de exupéry // translated by katherine woods

(no other books measure up to these three, so we’ll give ‘em the spotlight)

how did you spend your birthday this year?

i was able to safely meet up with a friend of mine for the afternoon/evening to catch up for the first time in about ten months (lol), thankfully. lots of carrot cake and curry soup for the two of us. ^^

what was your most memorable day this year?

probably my birthday, surprisingly. i tend to keep them low-key, but it wasn’t within my power this year. i was overwhelmed with texts and calls from people who had nothing else to do lmao, and when i met up with that friend, we had some very peculiar experiences at the park.

what was the most memorable meal you had this year?

i started cooking more for my family, so it was probably the creole seafood gumbo i hadn’t made (until then) since i idolized tiana

did you find any new hobbies or interests in quarantine?

(iphone) photography

wasting time (went from a workaholic to a giant procrastinator)

netflix (this isn’t a joke—i used to watch tv only a handful of times a year)

having the time to write more (though writing in itself is not new)

what was the last big thing you remember doing b. c. (before covid)?

(i like that hehe)

in general: prepping for the five million upcoming events like play productions, choir concerts, state contests, exams, field trips, dances, graduation, etc.

the day before they announced the first quarantine: having a sleepover with a handful of friends (a rarity) on a friday night because we could tell it was coming and we’d have to take the chance while we could lol

five good or positive things that happened to you in 2020?

joined tumblr and found a really cool community that i now have close friends outside of the platform from ^^

was able to go see my family over the pond

was less sick than any other year (thanks to masks and social distancing)

nobody close to me got covid, and i didn’t either

i didn’t break another bone (a new record--i am a walking disaster)

biggest messages or lessons learned from this year?

don’t be afraid to be yourself (took me long enough to get the basics down)

life fucks up your plans sometimes, and you just gotta suck it up

you’re allowed to like being alone 23/7

what are you most looking forward to in 2021?

spending too much time on discord with my glucose guardians

seeing my friends over the pond again (hopefully)

getting my life back on track (...as if)

a high school social life (maybe we’ll get events and clubs back?)

i’m done with trying to avoid duplicates, so i’m tagging @sadcypher @coff-chee​​ @min-howl @adhyayana-v @the-abyss-gazed-back @depressed-student @seizethehistory in case they need something to procrastinate with hehe

[love-fireflysong]

Day 18: Photo

Fandom: Until Dawn Character(s): Chris Hartley, Josh Washington, Ashley Brown Words: 1962 Rating: Teen (language bitches!) Author’s Notes: *Nickelback’s ‘Photograph’ plays in the background* Still alive over here! And it’s not angst this time! Amazing, I know. Big reason this one is so late is because after spending 3 days thinking about what to do for this, I still had nothing. And then I inspiration came to me in the shower so here we are: the follow-up to Deals and Arguments that probably no one wanted! Because lets be honest, if Ash is the one who writes ‘Ashley Hartley’ in her books, then Chris absolutely scribbled a heart with their initials by accident once. And that’s all it takes for Josh...

For almost as long as Chris had known him, Josh had always been obsessed with the idea. He wants to say that it started when they were in fifth grade, when their teacher, Ms. Franks, announced to the class that since she was pregnant, that she was going to be taking a leave of absence just before the end of the school year. Someone, he couldn’t recall who, had asked if they had a name for the baby picked out, but he could recall the response as though it had happened only yesterday.

“It’s still a little too early for names, but if they’re gonna be a girl, we’re thinking of naming her after a mutual best friend of ours.”

Ever since then, Josh had been all over the idea. Every dare, every piece of blackmail, every ‘dying’ wish was the same: “Name your kid Josh.” When he was younger, Chris would laugh and shove Josh away with a roll of his eyes. It was funny back when he was like ten or eleven, or hell, even when he was thirteen! He was gonna be a super cool app developer, he wasn’t gonna have time for marriage, much less kids. All of his time was gonna be spent developing super awesome games and apps that were gonna save the world! Or something. 

While his mind didn’t exactly change the moment he met Ashley the summer after he turned thirteen, he is ashamed to admit it was pretty dang close. Josh introduced Ash to him in their favorite fast food diner, and declared the three of them to be best friends, til death do us part, yada yada yada. At the end of July, the three of them were inseparable, and by the beginning of school that September, he was gone. Donezo baby! Head-over-fucking-heels for the little braces wearing, red-head that read Sherlock Holmes and Shakespeare for fun.

And unsurprisingly, Josh never let up on his demand. Nope, he did not! In fact, he got even worse about it. 

He needed to borrow a pencil for math? Name your kid after me. 

Can he spot him a couple of bucks for ice cream? Only if you name your kid Josh. 

When did the Battle of the Alamo take place? 1846. But I’ll tell you the right answer if you swear to name your first-born after me. 

While extremely exhausting to try and avoid, Chris was able to do so easily. He just started asking the kid who sat behind him in class for pencils, borrowed money from Ash instead, and he’d rather fail history then name his kid after Josh. Thankfully, after his first bombed history exam, Ash made all three of them do their homework together constantly, so the last one became a moot point. Barely.

Eventually, Josh tapered off on the demand, but not until after the start of the next school year. Most people probably would have stopped a few weeks in, but most people weren’t Josh Washington. When he wanted something, the guy stuck to his guns and didn’t give it up for nothing. Not that he stopped entirely of course, Josh still brings it up during dares and shit but it becomes immensely more manageable. He notices that he doesn’t ask it of Ash during these game, but when he considers the completely mortified look she gets on her face when ever he gets asked, Chris figures that its probably for the best.

(The fact that he not only stops that day Chris walked back into Ash’s bedroom and she’s as red as her hair while shoving something into her desk drawer, but that’s also when the mortification starts, he doesn’t clue into until years later.)

So when Josh walks up to him during their first period together with the absolute shittiest of shit-eating grins on his face, Chris is on red high alert.

“Oh no. What did you do?”

The laugh Josh gives is low and dark, and if Chris’s hackles weren’t raised earlier, they sure as fucking-hell are now. “Oh no, Cochise. It’s not what I’ve done, it’s what you’ve done.” With that, Josh proceeds to just slam a binder onto Chris’s desk, and he looks to see that he recognizes it easily.

“Okay...? I don’t see what my math notes have to do with anything.”

Another laugh, this one somehow darker and eviler then the first. Oh boy, those alarms going off in his head aren’t getting any quieter. “Oh, it has absolutely everything to do with you.” Before Chris can even respond, Josh is already flipping through the pages, past older pieces of loose-leaf that ripped from the binder coils that he hadn’t bothered to repair and and the newer notes with their edges still intact, and stops at the most recent. At first Chris doesn’t see anything, it’s all his notes about logarithms that he had taken the previous day, blue ink scratchy and messy all across the page, and then he does. And he absolutely blanches at the sight and hurriedly slams the binder shut, putting his face in his arms as he covers his head, actually whimpering as he refuses to look at Josh.

He doesn’t have to look to see the triumphant grin on Josh’s face, he can already imagine it pretty clearly. 

“Oh fuck me.”

The worst part is that he didn’t even know it was there in the first place, he never would have lent his notes out otherwise. Josh had been missing more and more school recently, claiming that he was having killer headaches and they were making him sick, so Chris had done what friends do for each other and lent him his notes. What he didn’t realize was that at some point when he had been taking notes down, he had drawn a little heart in the margins with the initials CH+AB inside. Something he never would have done if Josh had been there with him, but he hadn’t been, so Chris had zoned out thinking about meeting up with Ash after school to bring Josh his homework.

He was so dead.

“What do you want?” Though muffled through his arms, he cringed at how small and weak his voice came out.

God, he could hear the stupid grin in Josh’s voice when he answered. “You know exactly what I want, Cochise. What I’ve always wanted.”

Chris didn’t remove his head from his arms on the desk, but he did turn it enough to narrow his eyes at Josh. “Are you fucking serious dude? Really? You’re still on about that shit?”

“I will never stop. You know this to be true.”

“I am not naming my stupid kid after you! I mean, maybe I won’t ever have kids. I’m certainly not gonna if I have to name them Josh!”

Josh rolled his eyes, but the wide grin never left his face. “You don’t have to name all of them after me. Just one.” Somehow, Chris watched the grin get even wider as a thought came to him. “Maybe two, if they’re twins. Can you imagine? The twins, Joshua and Joshlynn, it’ll be great!”

“Okay, now I’m definitely never having kids.”

Josh gave a short bark of laughter. "Please, like that’s ever gonna happen. You wanna know why, Cochise? Cause if Ash is gonna want kids, then you’re gonna want kids.”

He couldn’t help it. He really, truly couldn’t help it. The image of little kids with bright red hair and glasses flashed through his mind unbidden, and he groaned loudly and put his face back into his arms to hide how red his face had gotten.

“Anything else, dude. Make me do anything else. I will strip and run through the entire school naked if you want, just don’t make me promise you this stupid shit.” God, if only he hadn’t drawn that stupid heart on his stupid notes, then none of this would be happening right now! He sat up in his seat at the revelation. “Wait. I can just rewrite the page and burn this one.”

“Oh, Chris Chris Chris.” They way Josh shakes his head in disappointment sends around a million different alarm bells ringing. “Do you really think that little of me? I took like a million pictures my dude. This shit is saved forever. I can send this to Ash whenever the fuck I want. I can post this on whatever social media I feel like and it will live on the internet forever, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Oh. Right. Shit. “I can’t believe that you can literally blackmail me with anything right now, and this is the hill you’re dying on.”

“So are we in agreement then?”

“I cannot believe I’m saying this, but yes. Fine. I will name my stupid kid after your stupid ass.”

“Oh please. Your kid may be stupid, but there is no way that any kid of Ashley’s is gonna be.”

“...I hate you so much right now.”

--------------------------------------------------

Chris hadn’t meant to respond the way he did when he found the old notebook he had bought for Ash years ago. He really hadn’t. He had just been excited to find out that she had kept the stupid thing after all these years, he hadn’t even been joking when he told her that he had spent ages in the store looking for it. (”It has to be perfect, Mom! I can’t just buy her any stupid old journal, she loves these things! I mean, what if she hates it?”) So he had opened it and started flipping through the pages, laughing with her at all the stupid misspellings and bad grammar that her thirteen year-old self had written.

And then he reached the last page.

Things had really been out of his hands at that point. Something about seeing her writing her name down as ‘Ashley Hartley’ had just ignited something in him. The images of her walking down an aisle, of them with matching rings on their fingers, of kids running underfoot, was too much for him to handle. So Chris had kissed her. Kissed her like he was never gonna be able to do it again. Them falling onto her bed had been an accident, though a happy one, as they both didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss.

Finally, he had pulled away and her giggle when she moved to fix his glasses had taken his breath away. It had quickly returned when his eyesight improved enough to really take in the image of Ash flushed pink with her red hair spread out under her on the bed, and he was suddenly reminded that she was going to be living with him soon! That this was a sight he was going to be waking up to every morning at the end of the month, and he had never wanted anything so bad in his life.

“So,” his voice is rougher than usual when he speaks and he can feel her shiver under him at it. He makes a note for future reference. “Ashley Hartley, huh?” 

He watches her bite her lip, and it takes everything in him to not kiss her again. Two years in, and he’s still amazed that he’s allowed to kiss her whenever he wants, that she encourages it even! “Be honest with me,” she starts off and Chris has never been told to do something so easy in his life, “what do you think of the name Joshlynn?”

He stares at her for just a moment, just letting her words sink in, and then falls forward to smother himself in her hair, his shoulders shaking he’s laughing so hard. Of course. Of fucking course he did.

“So he got you too, I see.”  

[zeravmeta]

Hey so i was inspired by some of those fanservant posts and made one for Optimus Prime since im on a TF kick lmao

Servant: Optimus Prime / Servant Class: Ruler

Origin: Transformers Universe / Region: Cybertron, Earth

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Aliases: Leader of the Autobots, Orion Pax, Last of the Primes, The Thirteenth

Parameters: STR (A+++++) / END (EX) / AGL (B) / MP (E) / LUK (E) / NP (EX)

Class Skills: Magic Resistance (EX) / Rank of Prime (EX)

Character Info: In a far-off universe, on a far-off planet, a race of sentient machines were born from the planet’s own life, an ancient being named Primus who had transformed himself into the planet Cybertron. A Golden Age of peace had emerged, but eventually the corrupt politics that had developed over time ended up splitting the population between the Autobots and the Decepticons. The Great War was one so brutal that it had poisoned the planet itself, forcing both factions off-world in search of resources. In these dark times, a Prime would weild the Matrix of Leadership and ensure a peaceful future for all Cybertronians…

…Orion Pax was once just a clerk who worked in the Iacon Hall of Records, unaware of the great destiny that would await him.

Skills:

Matrix of Leadership A+: The very life of Primus shared with any bot who wields it, this skill works like a unique combination of Golden Rule, Imperial Privilege and Tactics. The Matrix chooses someone with natural leadership abilities and greatly boosts their parameters, and the affected bot can in turn inspire their allies even in their darkest hour. Such a connection to an ancient otherworldly being would mean that the chosen individual would qualify as Foreigner class (within the Fate Universe), but Optimus’ sheer willpower and belief in justice means he isn’t overtaken by Primus, not that the benevolent Primus would do so even if given the chance. Optimus’ own self-sacrifical nature, however, puts him in danger more often than not, having him take the blows intended for his allies.

[8->6 Turns][Increase NP Gain (20%-30%)(3 Turns), Increase Atk(20%-30%)(3 Turns) and Def(20%-30%)(3 Turns) and Restore HP(1500-2500), and Increase NP Strength (20%-30%)(3 Turns) for All Allies. After 3 turns, decreases Def(20%-30%)(3 Turns) and grants Taunt (1 Turn)(Demerit)]

Battle Continuation EX: Optimus is no stranger to death, unfortunately. His variable existence across the multiverse due to his status as Prime means he has died many times before, yet he always finds a way back to help his fellow Autobots.

[10->8 Turns][Grants Guts status (3 Times, 5 Turns, restores 1000-2000 HP)]

Cybertronian Warfare C+: Optimus has millions of years of military experience, and is equipped with an Ion Blaster and his trademark Energon Axe. However, his original status as a civilian bot lowers the rank. 

[7->5][(60%->90%) Chance to grant Evasion(1 Turn) and (60%->90%) Chance to Increase Atk(30%->50%)(1 Turn) for All Allies and (60%->90%) Change to decrease NP Strength(20%->30%)(3 Turns) for All Enemies]

Noble Phantasm:

Will Of the Primes - Optimus’ Resolve / Rank(EX)

Optimus Prime has an unyielding resolve that can never be shattered. With the Matrix of Leadership, Optimus can release an extremely powerful burst of Primus’ power that can eradicate any enemy. However, the true power of this pseudo Noble Phantasm is the large inspiration boost to his allies that can carry them through millions of years of warfare.

[Type: Arts][Increases Arts Card Effectiveness (40%->60%)(1 Turn) for All Allies and deals massive damage (800%->1200%) to All Enemies and (Overcharge Effect) Restores HP (1000->2000) for All Allies]

Bond Lines: 

Bond 1: ”Hmm…This world is certainly strange, however I do look forward to working with you.”

Bond 2: “I am…saddened. One as young as you working towards saving your universe, despite being so unprepared…Well, at your side you have many dependable allies. I can power down in peace knowing they have your back.”

Bond 3: “Hmm….’Master’ is such a weird thing to call you. How about I just call you by your name instead? [name]? A fine name. I’ve worked with humans before….What? No, my head doesn’t have a cockpit for you to ride.”

Bond 4: “…Did you know I used to work with Megatron? He and I used to be allies, before he succumbed to his own lust for power. We are arch enemies now…yet I can’t help but hope he changes for the better. Any living being has the capacity for change, even…even if they them self don’t believe it.”

Bond 5: “Ha! You can certainly hold your own. I can see I’m gonna be needed here for awhile, so I swear to you on my spark that I’ll stay as long as I’m needed. You are the hope for this universe, and trust me when I tell you I can understand the weight of that burden, especially on one so young. So…if you’re ever feel sad or lonely [name]…I’ll make sure to take you on a peaceful drive.”

Voice Lines:

(1): “A catchphrase? Well, I do have a battle cry…you wanna hear it? Well then, ahem: ‘Autobots! Transform and Roll Out!’…How was that?”

(2): “Is there any natural energon in this universe?…What? Magic? Well, wouldn’t be the first time I’ve dealt with it…”

(3): “You wish to know about my people? Well…Let’s just say the list goes on and on…Though I do hope you can meet the other Autobots I’ve worked with one day.”

Likes: “What I like? Easy. Peace. I would wish that this world enters it’s own Golden Age similar to my own.”

Dislikes: “…Violence. I’ve had far too much fighting for one spark, much less all the other times I’ve needed to come back.”

Event: “[name], I’m sensing a distress signal. Let’s go!”

About The Holy Grail: “A wish granting device? Be careful with those, they only lead to trouble.”

Summon Quote: “My name is Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. I recieved a distress beacon….A human? Um, where am I, exactly? This doesn’t look like my Earth…”

Happy Birthday: “Happy birthday, [name]. Cybertronians live for a very long time, so we make sure to celebrate the lives of smaller organics.” 

(Mash Kyrielite(Pre-LB1)): “Hello there, young warrior. Do you wish to train today?…Haha, perfect! We’ll make sure you can leave a bigger dent in me than last time!”

(Mash Kyrielite(Post-LB1)): “Don’t lose heart, young one. I’m sure your powers will come back in time….Hm? A robot suit that lets you fight? You’re sounding more and more like an Autobot every day.”

(Babbage/Danzou/Mecha Eli-chan/Xiang Yu/Qin Shi Huang):”Ha! You’re Autobot material, all right!”

(Emiya/Emiya(Assasin)): “Sacrificing yourself for the cause is noble…but you’ve let yourself be consumed. I hope you can one day let yourself feel hope again. No matter the past, anyone can change.”

(Artoria Pendragon(Any Alt)): “I’m not sure why…but I feel a strange affinity with them….Hm? King Arthur? Excalibur? Wait, you can’t be serious…”

(Leonardo DaVinci/Nikola Tesla/Thomas Edison): “[name]…Please help me. They seem intent on…studying me.”

(Sherlock Holmes/James Moriarty): “[name], be careful. That shady individual has been following you for awhile now…Hm? A friend? If you say so…”

(Hijikata Toshizo): “…You are sick. I don’t think I’ve ever been as disgusted by an organic being as you.”

(Kiara Sessyoin/BB(Any Alt)): “[name], I advise caution. She feels…strange. I’m feeling a signature similar to Unicron from her.”

(Avenger Class Servants): “…You’ve been consumed by your righteous anger and grief…I just have this to say: Any living being has the capacity for change. I hope you can find peace with yourself.”

[artpoint420]

Melvin and the Silent Diagnosis for a Brilliantly Broken Psyche

Hypothetical Diagnosis Insecurity masked with narcissistic tendencies characterized with compulsive obsessions driven by blatant autism, and no that is not an immature insult I test extremely highly for Asperger's myself Here's the Evidence: (I will state before hand that Melvin-borg is a completely separate character in my mind, and thus will not be included in this particular theory.  Melvin decided not to turn out like him, so they are canonically separate characters) He is obviously and frequently inspired by George and Harold, but his deeply embedded fear of rejection makes him dangerously bitter, and it doesn't help that everytime he breaks out of this protective shell, he is rejected or betrayed once again. It’s important to note that while he may be high-functioning (aka: Aspergers) he is still Autistic. That’s because Asperger’s is not a form of autism- it is autism. Period. And any kind of autism or mental attypicality left untreated can develop in to many, many other severe mental disorders, or, in general, make life a metric heck ton harder and complicated than it already is. I also need to confess that I test highly positively for autism myself as well as being an INTP female (Myers-Briggs Personality Test). Not to brag, but all that combined with my naturally creative nature makes me rare af, but it also means I can't communicate or handle stress #liketheothergirls, so that has lead me to being/feeling bullied and ostracized.  I also have anxiety and depression issue which run in my family, and mild insomnia, and may or may not be relapsing into an eating disorder. Paired with psychical problems like acid reflux and severe neck tension, health, whether psychical or mental is of uttermost importance to me.  It suffices to say, autism is not easy to deal with and if not taken care for properly a person, especially if not made at least aware of what autism truly is, it can truly ruin their life. Combined with the neglectful nature of his parents (at least in the books) I and many others in this fandom truly believe Melvin is at least autistically coded. Not only does this fit the archetype of his character but it also fits the theme of the books to a TEE. At its core, CU, of all things, is a children's book series, about living your best life despite not being “normal.” Even characters like the teachers or Mr Krupp who strive for “normality” are shown to actually have deeply repressed creativity, or, in some cases, deep trauma from their own childhoods. It suffices to say that I resonate deeply with Melvin. Say what you want about him or me, I was able to relate to him the second he spoke his first line in the second book. Sorry to turn this into a long vent, but I feel it is best to use myself to support this theory as well as harder evidence, even if it is mostly a means of self-therapy. To start, we both are obsessed with school even to a detrimental degree. Ever since head-start (Pre-K but a million times better), these "book-smarts" were the first thing I ever truly excelled at. When the other kids bullied (or as I now know as teasing) me, I would lose myself in a stack of homework or a book 2-3 grades past my grade level (this is before I drew or wrote as a main hobby). Similarly, Melvin is rarely seen without a book or gadget, just like me. We both over analyze things and hide our feelings. We both have intense crushes on others but are terrified to dare express them, or do but to nothing but awkwardness. We were both science kids, and fascinated by words and/or numbers alone (I still am just in a more artistic way). We both struggle to communicate and relate to others. We both have a unusual sense of humor and are highly observant of surroundings all the while missing what’s in front of our noses. We both have interests that quickly spiral into obsessions and dropping the obsession only when sick of it. We both practice similar forms of stimming. We both not only thrive but crave control and structure with the world around us, even to the point of being "control freaks" and creating odd habits, routines, and rituals regardless of whether they are necessary or make sense. We both have an intense fear of intimacy and rejection to the point of practicing self-isolation and in some cases self harm or other unhealthy coping methods (seen with Melvin over eating sweets or over working himself. For me it’s disordered eating or self flagellation, something I have all but completely dropped but still) We also both tend to see ourselves as inferior to others and attempt to mask those feelings with a superiority complex (I feel bad for my siblings but I didn’t know what I was doing, and no it was not abusive just sibling rivalry and I’m the oldest anyway, and we are country kids and understand “rough-housing” =/= using each other as a punching bag, but accidents happen I'm sorry) We both seem to become easily overstimulated and have explosive mental and emotional breakdowns when things just . . . become too much However the harsh divide between male and female and fictional and nonfictional means we both present certain traits differently. Whereas he presents a more linear line of thinking my mind is overwhelmingly sporadic. Also, I have over sensitivities to touch and light (and sometimes certain noises, but not anything not normal? Wfk.) But maybe he does have oversensitivity but I can't think of an example off the top of my head. Enough about me however. I know Melvin and autism has been done to death.  Hell, I just did it to death.  My actual theory is more on the inner mechanisms of his mind and predicting how he will develop should the series allow for full character development. Also, similar to my Krupp theory, I will be listing his crimes out and give him a proper sentence for his age and maturity level (which will be light as I am sympathetic to his plight).   This is already getting too long, so Imma try to finally get to the point.  Characters with autism are honestly a mixed bag, sometimes there as standardized as my mystery Daddy Sherlock Holmes and other times they are as subtle as Pearl or Peridot from Steven Universe (has Rebbaca Sugar confirmed this? sorry). Honestly, it does distress me that autism is almost always used to have an evil genius character or some weird side character for brownie/ diversity points. (this makes me a bit hypocritical I guess, considering my own stories. I guess tropes are tropes for a reason) And while Dav Pilky May not be subtle with his scholastic politics or humor his one spectacular tool in his writing books has always been, when it comes to his characters, showing instead of telling. This is something I latched on to even as a kid, and I was already thinking up theories on the characters before I even knew character theories were a thing.  Like what happened to Harold's Dad (hint, hint).  Why was Harold's sister rarely used?  Does Mr Krupp actually like their comics (a now accepted theory, but not just min? And many many others I'm probably never gonna write.  It took until how long in the books to reveal George and Harold have ADHD? Before that they were simply described as being as smart as Melvin but just in different ways. Personally I feel that autism is inverted ADHD. This is an opinion I’ve recently formed so if I’m wrong bloody attack me in the comments. Anyway, Melvin presenting autism makes him the perfect foil to George and Harolds’ more sporadic antics. The only true difference between autistic folks and ADHD folks is that those with autism tend to crave a structured environment full of rules, and set goals to achieve, while such an environment is HELL to children with ADHD (aka:George and Harold). (Even though if with adults they can trust, children with ADHD thrive in structured environments if they are surrounded by adults or authority figures they can trust.)  I know some will tell me ADHD is on the spectrum, but I just learned this like actually the other day and don’t fully understand it.  My prediction is that Melvin will eventually and naturally mellow out if just because staying so high strung all the time is a huge waste of mental energy.  I know good as hell I had to.  Also, he mellowed our in the books and went from a screeching revenge exacting lil narcissistic white boi prick to a person who simply wants to pursue his interests and even helping George and Harold (selfishly, but help nonetheless). He even went from enjoying the fame and attention of hero-ing to realizing it did not fufill him. Indeed quite the opposite.  His true passion lay in solving world problems through science, and I don't think the ending for him in the books could have been any more perfect considering his character.   In the Netflix show, similar to how I think Krupp's personalities are merging, I believe that Melvin will eventually become more like his Broski alter ego (which I calmly demand more of).  Overall, given that this show needs to go back to the status quo more often than not, I don't think his core character will ever change, and it doesn't need to.  Multiple times throughout the series he's been shown to crave friendship from George and Harold, despite audibly hating him . Textbook Tsundere, I know.  He will form a friendly rivalry with George and Harold, I have almost no doubt about that, taking the season 1 finale, season 2 finale, season 3 first episode, and halloween special into consideration. (Yeah, if someone will send me clips I will give them my eternal gratefulness) To conclude, because by god this is long, Melvin is, SHOCKER, just a little kid.  A little kid who likes muffins and dolls and has big hopes and dreams.  A little kid whose love for science and unrecognized creativity is channeled into making inventions that are even more impressive than those of Professor P (sorry P).  But he is a little kid with his own needs and stuggles which at this point remain unmet.  His parents are canonically neglectful, I cannot repeat that enough times.  The effects of neglect are a hell-hole of its own regardless of growing up with undiagnosed autism.  But that's just a theory- Alright, that was a banger, I guess next up is Melvin-borg since writing this has given me some interesting ideas for him.  Let’s see how long this hyperfocus train will go!

[fandorkofeverything]

The Peter Parker Project: A Million Dreams Chapter Two

And, this will now be a series! There will be two more installments, and MAYBE a fourth, depending on how this goes.

/Peter's P.O.V/

"Wait…. You got kicked out of school?" Pietro asked as Jade was setting up a movie.

"And you didn't get in trouble?" Brooklyn added, sitting next to me on the couch.

"Teach me your ways, I could've gotten away with a whole lot more at your age." Megan joked, bringing over the popcorn.

"You're only a year older than me." I stated, facing her and she laughed.

"Yeah, 365 days' worth of insanity!" Megan threw popcorn in my hair and I shook my head.

"Hey! Watch the curls! I love the curls." Brooklyn got the greasy popcorn out of my hair and I blushed slightly. It's not like she's my girlfriend or anything. Nope. Not at all. Not one bit. Noooo. Never.

"Not important, back to the subject on hand," Jade smiled, sitting on the end seat of the couch. "You got kicked out, Parker. And for what?" I sighed and shoo my head.

"I corrected a teacher."

"Oooh, do spill!" Maddison exclaimed; her thick English accent clear as always.

"She had Einstein's Theory of General Relativity problem wrong. I simply corrected her, and she kicked me out of the classroom and the principle sent me home. End of story." I shrugged at that and Jade scoffed.

"There's got to be more than that, Parker." Jade glared and I rolled my eyes.

"My name's Peter." I mumbled, annoyed. Jade and I have never got along. I just don't like how she treats other people. But she doesn't have anyone else, so I tolerate her.

"Hey, how about we start the movie, hmm?" Megan questioned, shaking the remote in her hand. Jade sighed and relaxed on the couch arm.

"Fine."

"Great! Let's get this party started!" Kayleigh stood on the couch, jumped and then plopped down, earning a laugh out of me and Maddie.

Megan started the movie, and we were about halfway through the movie when Kayleigh started to get tired.

"Doesn't Sherlock look like your Dad, Brooklyn?" Megan stated, not taking her eyes off the TV.

"No shit." Brooklyn teased, with a wink.

Nobody really talked until the movie was over, and Kayleigh had fallen asleep.

"She's awful sweet for an eighty-something kid." Jade teased and I rolled my eyes, that joke obviously overused. "I'll take her to bed." Jade picked her up and carried the youngest of our group to her room.

"All of us should go to bed. We have school tomorrow." Wanda stated, taking her brother by the hand.

"Yeah. Great." I rolled my eyes, not wanting to go to the disgrace of a high school.

"Hey, soon you'll be at Seaside! No need to worry!" Megan hugged me, trying to be positive.

Except they don't know about Flash Thompson.

I've always had trouble falling asleep, but it was never like this. It was like I could hear everything in the whole world. I tried covering my ears, but it wasn't helpful. My eleven was now a fifteen. Maybe even a seventeen.

I tried to go to sleep, but it just wasn't happening. my alarm then went off and I groaned, rolling off of my bed and onto the floor.

"Karen, would Mr. Stark be mad at me if I just slept on the floor instead of going to school?"

"I would assume so, Peter. Mr. Stark knows that your schoolwork is very important for your—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it."

It was like everybody was screaming. I could hear Brooklyn and Mr. Stark from the kitchen.

"But I want tacos!"

"You can't have tacos for breakfast!"

"Well, why not?!"

"Because I said so!"

I could hear Maddie on the phone with her father.

"No, I don't have a boyfriend."

"You know what to say if someone asks you out?"

"My Daddy's a doctor and will fuck you up?"

"Maddison!"

"Sorry Daddy."

I could hear Pietro singing the sonic theme song on the treadmill. Loudly.

"Gotta go fast, gotta go fast! Gotta go faster, faster, faster, faster, faster! Moving at speed of sound! Make tracks! Quickest hedgehog around! Got ourselves a situation! Stuck in a new location! Without any explanation! No time for relaxation!"

"SHUT UP PIETRO! IT'S TIME FOR BREAKFEST!"

Wanda's scream made me flinch, as her screaming on top of my elevated senses made it worse.

I know that most of the people were just having a discussion, but it came on like a heard of wildebeests. Accepting my fate, I got dressed and went to the kitchen for breakfast. Oatmeal sounds pretty good right about now.

"Wow. You look like shit." The raven-haired girl pointed out and I rolled my eyes.

"Thanks, Jade. I thought I'd cosplay as you today." I smirked at her facial expression after I said that. just because my senses are elevated doesn't mean I can't be cocky towards her.

"Good one, Pete." Kayleigh put out her hand for a fist-bump and I did so. I have no idea how the blonde can tell where I am without her ability to see, but that will always be a mystery to most.

"Oatmeal Tuesday, right Pete?" Steve asked me and I nodded, my head still pounding like three thousand phrases were placed into my head at the same time.

"I'll be taking you to school today, kid." Natasha told me, giving me my oatmeal and I hummed in response with a nod, letting her know I heard her. I ate my oatmeal quickly and we left.

About ten minutes into the drive, Natasha seemed to finally speak up about my silence.

"You okay, kid?"

"Yeah, just tired." I lied through my teeth and Natasha shook her head.

"No, I know what tired looks like. It's more than that."

"I'm fine. I'll be a whole lot better after I transfer to Seaside."

"Yes, The School Of The Arts. The brats- I mean kids, love it there. Any thoughts on classes?" She asked and I shook my head.

"Depends on how hard their AP classes are. Most of STEM subjects are too easy for me."

"Kid, you have the IQ of 230, just 20 points off of Stark, of course they're too easy for you." I smiled at that. There's not many things I'm good at, but school is one of them.

"Alright, kiddo. Have a good day." Natasha smiled as she dropped me off and I closed the door.

She didn't scream 'have a good day' like Uncle Bucky did, and I'm kind of grateful. I don't think my brain could handle it at this point.

"Have you got the notes for science class?"

"Did Black Widow really drop Peter Parker off at school?"

"Did you study for that chemistry exam?"

"Do you have anything toe eat? I ran late this morning."

"Did you see the new Voltron season yet?"

"I'm going to Germany for spring break and the 'rents said I could bring a friend. Wanna come?"

"Did you hear their making a live-action Lion King movie?"

"Ugh, I'm so sick of school. Correction, I'm sick of waking up in the morning."

"Did you eat last night or this morning?"

"Dude, my moms been on my case all week. If I don't get my grade up, she's gonna hire a tutor."

Every single one of my school's voices came all at once. And all extremely loud. Airplane loud. Breaking news loud. Screaming loud. I placed my hands over my ears, but again, it was useless.

"Yo, Penis Parker!" Flash's voice came in like a freight train and I flinched slightly. "What's your problem? Did I scare you?" He taunted and laid his hand on my back, which I shoved away. "C'mon! I thought you liked touch." He did the same and I backed up and screamed.

"STOP TOUCHING ME!" I lowered to the ground, hands over my ears, closing my eyes tightly and shaking, not caring who saw what. The world became quiet, and I felt eyes on me.

"Hey! Leave him alone!" I recognized MJ's voice as I heard her shoes squeak against the high school flooring, clearly newly bought.

I suddenly found myself shortness of breath and struggled to breathe. MJ noticed this and sat next to me on the ground, but didn't touch me, which I appreciated.

"What's wrong with him?"

"What a loser!"

"Wow, that's a new low, Penis Parker!" I felt my side and face experience pain and then a sound of someone punching another person and a girlish scream.

"DON'T YOU EVER LAY A HAND ON HIM EVER AGAIN, FLASH THOMPSON!" MJ's scream caused me to sink back into the lockers even further, if that was even possible. I heard the running of shoes, and then a new person sitting beside me.

"Okay everyone, get to class! This isn't a talent show!" I recognized Mr. Dell's voice and the sound of people scattering. I liked Mr. Dell. He treated me like a person and not a little kid, like most teachers in this crack house. "Peter. Are you alright?" I shook my head, unable to bring words to life. "Would you like me to call someone? Your Aunt?" I shook my head, she's still out of town.

"Maybe try Mr. Stark." Ned's voice then became known, now knowing who sat beside me.

"Do you have his number?" MJ asked, I felt my phone leave my pocket and I heard the ring.

"Pete, shouldn't you be in school?

"Mr. Stark, this is Julius Dell at Midtown High, I'm here with Peter, Michelle and Ned, and Peter has seemed to have had some sort of a panic attack."

"What happened?"

"I cannot tell you what happened directly, but he seems to be really shaken and won't let anyone touch him."

"I'll be there soon. Tell the kid to hold on."

"Of course, Mr. Stark."

I heard the phone hang up and I begun to shake a bit more violently, I grabbed at my hair and clawed it.

"Pete, let's not do that, okay?" Mr. Dell removed my hands from my head, and I fell to the ground, wrapping my arms around my legs.

"Pete?" MJ's worried voice asked, still sitting beside me.

I held my hands tighter onto my ears, and I then heard the run of footsteps.

"Geez, kid…." Mr. Stark's voice calmed me slightly but didn't stop my attack. "I'll be taking him home."

"I think that's very advisable. I'll let the rest of his teachers know."

"You're not like the other ones are you?" Mr. Stark paused for a moment. "You care for him. I can tell most of the other teachers don't. Not really."

"I care for my students like their human beings. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Everyone should." I felt my body leave the ground, and I assumed that Mr. Stark picked me up.

"Come on, I'll walk you two to your classes." I heard the three leave and Mr. Stark carried me out, and I was strapped in.

"What happened to the kid?" I recognized the voice as Happy's.

"Panic attack, I assume. I'll find out later."

I leaned my head against the window and fell asleep.

When I woke up, I was in my room at Avengers Tower. The lights were dimmed down for my senses, and I found I was wearing soundproof headphones. I looked at my phone and saw that I had thirty messages.

Ten from Ned, three from MJ, five from Brooklyn, from from Pietro, and three from Megan. All of them expressed their worry about me. I looked at the time; 4:45…... On a Thursday….. Did I really sleep for 56 hours? I sighed, got out of my bed and walked out to the main room.

Uncle Bucky was reading a book on the couch, Mr. Stark was looking at something on his database, and Brooklyn was watching a TV show.

"Well, look who's joined the land of the living." Bucky joked and I smiled, giving a small wave. Brooklyn ran up to me and hugged me.

"We. Were. So. Worried. About. You!" She shook me side-to-side during the hug and I just dealt with it.

"Brooklyn, ease off of him, dear." Mr. Star told her, and she released me from her prison- I mean hug. "So, what was that that happened on Tuesday?"

"You know how I told you that my senses are usually an eleven?" I asked and he nodded. "Well….. They were a seventeen on Thursday."

"A seventeen? Why?" Uncle Bucky asked and I shrugged, sitting next to him.

"It happens sometimes. But it's never been this bad. I think that was an anxiety attack, a panic attack and a sensory overload all rolled into one. I couldn't speak, I couldn't breathe….. I was scared." I confessed, and I noticed Bucky motion for the Mr. Stark and Brooklyn to leave. Mr. Stark wasn't happy about it, but he did so anyways.

"Do you know what caused this? What caused you to finally snap?" Uncle Bucky asked and I shook my head.

"Peter. I know when you're lying." I froze at that. Of course. I can't lie to Bucky Barnes. "Come on, tell your favorite Uncle what's bothering you so I can fix it."

"You can't fix this…." I mumbled and walked out of the room and back into my bedroom. There's a lot of things that Bucky can fix. My mental state. Homework. School. And dealing with my parents and Uncle's death…

But he can't fix this.

What Peter experienced is called a Sensory Overload. I've experienced these so many times, and let me tell you, it hurts. It hurts like hell. Luckily Peter has so many people that care about him to help him out though!

[sis-tafics]

The Most Magical Place on Earth - Epcot

PART TWO

Summary: You and Jensen go on a vacation with the Padaleckis and get into a little trouble in Epcot

SERIES MASTERLIST

Characters: Reader, Jensen, Gen, Jared, Tom, Shep

Pairings: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 2000

Warnings:  Language, drunk!Jensen, drunk!Reader, very light public smut

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading. I kinda started writing this after I went on a vacation to Disney a few months ago. I’m looking at it maybe being 4 parts long. This is just supposed to be a fluffy little series, no heartbreak or angst or any of my normal things

This is unbetaed, all mistakes are mine.

“Time to get up babe,” his lips brush over your forehead as he leans over the bed.

“No,” you groan, pulling up the covers, trying to pray away the throbbing in your head.

“I thought you were going to get Jared drunk last night?” He teases and you can hear him walking towards the windows.

“Dont! Jense, don’t you dare open those curtains,” you grumble, your mouth dry as hell.

He chuckles low, coming back over to the bed. You open up the covers, peeking up at him with one eye. He smiles softly, crawling back beside you, pulling you to his chest, “I guess a little longer won’t hurt.”

“Mhmm,” you snuggle against him, tangling your legs with his, “you’re really warm.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Yeah, I got a little burnt yesterday, it’s not too bad.”

“It’s supposed to be hotter today,” you yawn.

“Well we will be drinking our way around the world, so I’m sure I won’t notice.” You guys are going to Epcot around ten but you know Gen and Jared had wanted to get the kids some breakfast, you are probably skipping that now. It’s funny, Jared drunk by himself was a handful, you and Jensen drunk together was a nightmare. It’s like herding cats. Not that either of you got too stupid, just any and all shyness that you had fell away.

You press your face against his, eyes falling shut, “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Go ahead sweetheart,” he runs his fingers through your hair, his other hand finding yours, squeezing it.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nah,” he chuckles and it rumbles through his entire body, but then he stills, brushing your hair back, “I don’t deserve you.”

That wakes you up. You lean back a little so you can look at him, gently touching his face, “What are you talking about Jense?”

He shakes his head, “I don’t tell you that enough… You’re good with my friends, you’re cool about my job-”

“To be fair, you’re cool about me working crazy amounts of hours.”

“And you’re good to me,” he smiles softly.

You giggle, “Well no shit Sherlock...I’m kinda in love with you.”

“I know, but you’d be a good person even if you didn’t, and that’s one of the reasons I love you.”

You can’t help but smile, pressing your lips to his, “Where’s this coming from? You’re usually only a sap when you’re drunk.”

He kisses you back before peppering kisses all over your face, laughing low, “Quiet...I’m pre-drunk.”

“I like pre-drunk Jensen,” you giggle, wrapping your arms tight around him and pulling yourself closer, snuggling up against him.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers, rubbing your arm.

“I’m working on it,” you yawn, pressing your face to his neck, letting the warmth wash over you.

________

It is a little after seven and you and Jensen are long gone, laughing like idiots. Shep is on your shoulders, Tom is on Jensen’s and you two are bouncing through the crowds, making the kids giggle uncontrollably.

“Pluto!” Shep shouts, pointing at the character as you guys are about to pass it and you stop in your tracks, grabbing Jense’s arm.

“C’mon, let’s get them pictures so Jared and Gen can catch up,” they were a bit behind you, sick of trying to keep up with you two.

“Alright, get off,” Jense growls playfully, lifting Tom off, letting him drop quickly and catching him so the boy squeals and laughs. Shep squirms excitedly until you put him on the ground, and immediately his hand finds yours as you get in line.

“Aunt Y/N/N,” he tugs on your hand.

“What’s up bud?”

“I’m hungry.”

You squeeze his fingers gently, “ We will get some food right after this.”

He nods, smiling excitedly, his attention now focused on Pluto. Jensen’s arm wraps around you and you lean into his side as he leans down and kisses your neck, nipping, making you giggle.

“Knock it off,” you hiss, “we are in public.”

“So?” he does it again, and you laugh, twisting to say something but he catches your lips with his, kissing you deeply.

“Eww,” the boys say together and you and Jensen laugh against each others lips.

“Eww is right,” Jared’s voice booms as him and Gen walk up beside you. She shoots him a bemused look.

Jensen shakes his head, pulling you closer, resting his forehead on your shoulder. You scratch his scalp lightly, only one more family ahead of you guys now. He presses a kiss to your skin, “Another margarita for you after this?”

You giggle low, “Yep, but you gotta step up your drinking game old man. I think I’m a couple up on you.”

“Quiet,” he tries but ends up laughing.

The lady ushers you guys forward and suddenly Shep wraps his arms around Jensen’s leg, too nervous to go up to the oversized dog.

“Whatcha doin’ buddy?” Jensen ruffles his hair.

Shep looks up at his uncle then to Pluto, shaking his head. Jared steps up, squatting by his son, “Do you want me to go with you?”

Shep nods, but still doesn’t let go of Jensen until Jared takes his hand, taking him up to meet the character. You pull out your phone, shooing Gen forward to join them and taking her phone so you can get a family photo of the four of them.

“Smile!” You pry, taking a couple of photos before deciding one of them would be good enough.

Gen comes over to you, flipping through the pictures with a smile, “Thank you.”

You give her a small hug, “No problem.”

“Do you and Jensen want to run off for a bit? You guys have been watching the kids all day.”

“I think they’ve been watching us,” you giggle as Tom runs towards you at a million miles per hour, crashing into your legs with a big hug.

“Uff,” you grunt teasingly and Gen laughs.

“Seriously, you two go have some fun.”

“But I wanna go with Aunt Y/N/N!” Tom says and Shep is right behind him.

“Aunt Y/N/N said we were going to get food!”

“Me and Daddy can get you two food, why don’t we let Aunt Y/N and Uncle Jensen go for a little bit?”

Jensen grabs Shep from behind, flipping him upside down so he giggles manically, squirming like crazy, “Uncle Jensen!”

“What are we doing?” Jensen looks between you and Gen, tickling the wriggling Shep.

Gen grabs her son from Jensen, flipping him upright, “You and Y/N are going to have some kid free time.”

“I don’t mind Gen, really,” Jensen tries, making a face at Shep before looking back to her.

“I know, but you two didn’t come to babysit our kids, you are on vacation too.”

Jensen and you both shrug, it really isn’t a big deal to either of you, you’re family.

“Get lost,” Jared smirks, “I don’t need to see you two making out again.”

Jensen punches him playfully in the shoulder, and even though he has aviators on, you know he rolls his eyes.

Jared shoves him back, “I don’t want to see either of you until the fireworks.”

“I’m sick of your face too Jare,” you stick your tongue out and he laughs.

Jensen laces his fingers through yours and pulls you away from the Padeleckis. You don’t even make it ten steps and his arm finds its way around your waist, “What do you want to do for two hours?”

“Hmm...Well I am hungry, and I am nowhere near drunk enough to spend the night with you,” you tease.

“Ouch,” he laughs, “So margaritas for you and then…”

“Let’s do German food.”

“Sounds good to me,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, going back to holding your hand as you make your way through the crowds.

Not thirty minutes later you are sitting in the Biergarten Restaurant and both you two are another beer or two in, maybe, here they serve it in liters so it is hard to tell who is drinking what. What you do know is neither of you stop ordering.

You glance at his watch, “Shit Jense, we gotta meet up with them soon.”

“Hmm,” he looks down at it before pulling out his phone, “Where are we meeting them at?”

You giggle for no reason, “I don’t know, aren’t you s’supposed to know?”

“Shush,” he smirks, texting.

He puts the phone back in his pocket, smiling widely, “Okay, c’mon.”

“Where the fuck are we going?”

“I dunno,” he grabs your hand, “Not here.”

He pulls you behind him, grinning, as you two walk into the cool night air.

“Jense!” you squeak, trying not to laugh as he leads you through the people, “Do you even know where we are going?”

“Nope, it’s an adventure,” he starts laughing again and you join him, wrapping your arm around his waist and his hooks over your shoulder. He presses a kiss to your head, squeezing you tightly against his side.

People are crowding around the lake, getting ready to see the fireworks, pushing each other to get closer. Jensen keeps you towards the back as shops start to close down, stopping every once in awhile to bend down and steal a kiss.

You swear at some point you hear someone yelling for him, but you are too focused on your boyfriend, too caught up in his giddy laughter and free behavior as he drags you through the hoards.

Finally around France he stops, diverting to the side, down the dark part near an ice cream shop with it’s lights out for the night as a voice comes over the intercoms, announcing the start of the fireworks.

“Jense?” You giggle.

“Shh,” he whispers against your lips as he pushes you towards a semi-hidden corner, where no one will pay any attention with the show on the lake, “they stole you away last night.”

“It’s your fault, you passed out before I got back,” you tease, kissing him, tugging his bottom lip between your teeth.

He growls low, pinning you against the wall with his hips as his lips travel over your neck, leaving you trembling against him.

“Jensen,” you moan, cupping his chin, bringing him back so your lips crash against his in a desperate kiss.

The fireworks boom in the air as he presses his thigh between your legs. You whine, grinding down as his hand palms at your breast, “Y/N, baby…”

“Please Jense,” you pant. You’re just on the right side of drunk, the side that makes you brave enough not to think of the thousands of people less than twenty-five or thirty yards away.

He growls low, his fingers undoing the button on your shorts, hand slipping past the fabric and into your panites.

“Shit,” you his, holding onto him tight, your face buried against his chest as his fingertips play at your damp folds.

“Fuck baby, you’re-” But he’s cut off.

“Well, what have we got goin’ on here,” Jared’s voice cuts through your little world.

Both you and Jensen jump, his hand retreating from your pants, and you can’t help but whine a little at the loss.

Jared strolls up followed by his uncontrolled laughter, “Hand check?”

“Shut-up Jared,” Jensen grumbles, his face falling when he looks back at you apologetically.

“Now I thought this was supposed to be a family friendly park and here we have-”

“Shut-up Jared,” you groan, knowing right now you are never going to hear the end of this.

He chuckles, “Do you two need a chaperone?”

Jense’s face falls against the crook of your shoulder, “Please stop.”

Jared shakes his head, winking at you, “Never, this one is too good. I caught you two trying to get it on at Disney.” He can’t even get the words out without busting out laughing.  

You glare at him but it only makes him laugh harder. Jensen catches your chin with his index finger, making you look up at him, “He can only keep this up for two more days.”

“Oh no,” Jared smirks, “This one is getting told for years.”

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[thorne93]

Curious Conundrum (Part 19)

Prompt: You’re John Watson’s sister. One day you decide to visit your brother for lunch, only to meet the infamous Mr. Holmes…

Word Count: 2469

Warnings: language, flirtation, sexual innuendos (maybe? idfk), murder/crime/case related stuff, angst, jealousy…

Notes: Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong Not only did she beta, but I literally couldn’t have written half these scenes without her help. She contributed majorly, even wrote some parts of scenes. I am forever in her debt.

Also, this starts AFTER Season 2, episode 1. I don’t follow all the episodes, but it does follow the timeline and hit some major events : )

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |  Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 |

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You followed the men outside, where Sherlock and him managed to get away. Within a few minutes, you got a text telling you an address. It wasn’t Sherlock’s number, but you had a feeling it was a message from one of his homeless network.

You ducked out of the back of the apartment and made your way through town to the address. When you got there, Sherlock and John were waiting for you outside an apartment.

“I’ve nearly unlocked it...There we are,” Sherlock noted as he stood up and you two went inside a small apartment.

Sherlock asked that you find something to cut the cuffs with. You found some bolt cutters and set them free.

“Where are we?” you asked.

“This is a writer's apartment. Kitty. Remember the frisky fan I told you about?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s her. Not a fan at all. She wanted an exclusive interview and I wouldn’t give it to her.”

“Okay so why are we here?”

“She wrote a story called Kiss and Tell, claiming that a man named Richard Brook has shed light on my fraud.”

“And we’re here to…?”

“To see who Richard Brook is.”

----------------------------

The three of you sat in the dark to wait for her. She got to the door, opened it, clicked on the light and Sherlock asked, “Too late to go on the record?”

Once Kitty got settled in, Sherlock set in on her. “Congratulations, on the truth about Sherlock Holmes. Scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. Bravo.”

“I gave you your opportunity. I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down so…”

“And then someone turns up and spills all the beans, how utterly convient? Who is Brook?”

She shook her head.

“Oh come on, Kitty, no one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone. There are all those flirty little meetings in cafes, those meetings in hotel rooms. How do you know that you could trust him?” Sherlock pressed. “Man turns up with a holy grail in his pocket. What were his credentials?”

At that moment, the door opened to the apartment and a disheveled Moriarty walked in. “Darling they didn’t have any ground coffee so I just got normal.”

Sherlock spun, his eyes wide with shock, yours as well. Suddenly you felt your heart drop into your stomach, your veins filled with ice. John, you, and Sherlock all looked as if you’d seen a ghost. What the ever loving fuck was he doing here?

“You said that they wouldn’t find me here,” he stammered as he backed into a wall, dropping the grocery bag. Your eyes narrowed on him. “You said that I’d be safe here.”

“You are safe, Richard,” Kitty assured and your face whipped to her. “I’m a witness. They won’t harm you in front of witnesses.”

“Wanna bet?” you muttered, utterly put out with all of this nonsense.

“So that’s your source?” John demanded. “Moriarty is Richard Brook?”

“Of course he’s Richard Brook. There is no Moriarty. There never has been.”

A dizzy spell hit your head at that moment.

“What are you talking about?” John wondered.

“Look him up. Rich Brook, an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty.”

Your eyes flashed to your better half, his face unreadable. Then your eyes flashed to Moriarty.

“Dr. Watson, I know you’re a good man,” Moriarty started. “Don’t--Don’t--Don’t hurt me,” he pleaded holding his hands up.

Oh he was good. Playing the part of victim. Playing the part of a scared little man, but you knew better. This wasn’t real. He was as sick and twisted as they come.

John lost his nerve and started shouting. “No, you’re Moriarity! He’s moriarty!” he insisted glancing back to Kitty. “We've met, remember? You were going to blow me up!”

Moriarity continued his charade as he said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. He paid me. I needed the work.” He gestured to Sherlock and you thought you’d rip his head off then and there. “I’m an actor. I was out of out work.”

“Sherlock, you’d better explain. Cause I am not getting this.”

“I’ll be doing the explaining,” Kitty interjected. She went on to hand John and you papers, explaining how Sherlock had invented Moriarity and all the crimes.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ask him, he’s right here!” she insisted, pointing to Moriarty.  

John went back and forth with the two of them but all you could hear was a rushing in your ears, feel the pounding of your heart, your stomach lurching. You were getting more pissed by the second.

Suddenly, Moriarity had been begging Sherlock to tell John “the truth”.

“Tell him! Tell them! Tell him!” he repeated frantically and you’d had enough.

Shaking your head, you cried, “You sick son a bitch!” Then you lunged at him, his voice getting on your last nerve. This story. The lies. The games. All of it.

“No! No! Don’t you touch me!” he said, falling over himself, getting just out of your grasp. “Don’t you lay a finger on me!”

You continued to march towards him. “Oh I’ll lay more than a finger you sniveling, lying, little snake!”

“Stop it! Stop it now!” Sherlock shouted at Jim, demanding he put this charade to bed. But he didn’t. He started to get up and run away where you and John took off after him.

But he got away. The three of you stormed out of her apartment, your minds still reeling. John was asking if any of this was possible, and Sherlock seemed to surrender and say it was possible.

“There’s only one thing he needs to do to complete his game and that’s to…” Sherlock said, stopping suddenly.

“Sherlock?” you softly said.

“There’s something I need to do.”

“What? Can we help?” John asked.

“No, on my own.” With that he started to walk.

You shook your head, gritting your teeth. “He is such a --”

“Bastard? Annoying dick? Egotistical ass? Patronizing son of a bitch?”

“All of the above,” you muttered.

Just then you got a text message from Sherlock. “Find the computer program. -- SH.”

You showed John.

“Let’s go,” you sighed.

“Uh, you go ahead. I need to take care of something.”

“What? Not you too.”

“Y/N, someone sold Sherlock’s life. It wasn’t me, I highly doubt it was you, so who does that leave?”

It only took you a second before you answered, “Mycroft.”

“Right.”

“But why…?” you started to ask.

“I don’t know, but that’s what I intend to find out.”

“So I’m on my own?” you asked, exasperated as he started to walk away.

“For now, yes! I’ll meet up with you when I can,” he called over his shoulder.

-------------------

You worked all night trying to find the code, not hearing a word from either one of them, except that they were at St. Barts working. Giving up a little after dawn, you decided to head to Barts to see what headway they’d made.

Just as you arrived, Sherlock called you. You stepped out of the cab and answered.

“Hey. You okay?” you greeted.

“Turn around and walk back the way you came,” he instructed sternly.

“What? Why would I do that? I’m coming in.”

“Just do as I ask! Please.” His tone made you nervous so you obliged.

“Yeah, alright. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Stop there.”

“Okay?” you said, looking around for him.

“Okay, look up, I’m on the rooftop.”

Dizziness hit your head like a freight train.

“The rooftop? What the hell are you--” you demanded, angry with him at first, until you actually saw him standing on the ledge. He wasn’t just standing on the rooftop, his tiptoes were over the edge. You gazed up in nauseous horror as you covered your mouth and gasped.

“Sherlock?! What the hell are you doing up there?! Get down this instant!” you nearly shouted into the phone.

“I... I can’t come down so we’ll just have to do it like this,” he said softly.

Your insides twisted.

“Do what?” you asked, a sob already forming in your throat. You didn’t want an answer to your question, but you half hoped it would be something benign, not the horrors that danced through your head at that instant. One horrible thing about your mind was that it quickly worked things out. Moriarity must be making him do this. “Sherlock… What… What’s going on?” you tried to speak through threatening tears.

“An apology,” he said simply.

“For what?” you tried again.

“It’s all true.”

“What’s all true?”

“Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty.”

You shook your head, your heart beating a million miles per hour. Maybe you could get up there but… Sherlock had told you to stay put.

“Why are you saying this? Sherlock this is mad. Stop this right now.”

“I’m a fake, Y/N.”

“No, no you’re not. This is just…”

“The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell John, Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes.”

“I’m not going to do that,” you insisted, still biting back tears and your ever-swelling throat. “You know things about people, intimate things, that no one could possibly know in one glance. But you do.”

“Noone is that clever. I couldn’t even tell you anything other than you being an attorney, an obvious deduction. I’ve never been able to read you.”

“So? Sherlock, you can tell people their life story with one glance. I’m the exception.”

It sounded as if he gave a short, sorrow filled laugh before saying, “You always were, weren’t you? My one exception.”

His words. Those words. They sent tears over the edge.

“It’s all one big magic trick, a ruse. I research people. That’s all.”

“You’re lying and I don’t know why. I’m coming up,” you said, starting to move before Sherlock stopped you.

“No! Stay exactly where you are! Don’t move.”

Against your better judgement, you obeyed him and moved back into your spot.

“Alright. I won’t move.”

“Keep your eyes fixed on me,” he requested. “Please, will you do this for me?”

“Do... do what?” you stammered, trying to keep some composure and failing. Not being next to him, seeing him on that ledge, it made your bones, your very soul ache.

“This phone call – it’s, er ... it’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note?”

A strangled sob escaped your throat as you stared up at him.

“No, Sherlock. No. Just... tell me, I can help you. Please let me help you. We can solve this another way. I don’t know what he has on you but please,” you begged.

“There is no other way. Y/N, I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you… For the pain I’m about to cause you. When we met… I never meant for this to happen. That’s why I told you no, the day you asked me to dinner. I warned you. I told you this would be dangerous.”

“I know, and I still said yes.”

“Do you still say yes now?” he asked ominously.

At first you weren’t sure what he meant, but as you stared up at him, it became painfully clear. He would be dead. You weren’t sure when, but he was going to end his life. Today. And he was asking if it was still worth saying yes.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way,” he apologized.

“Please. Sherlock. Don’t do this. Please, for the love of God don’t do this to me,” you pleaded. He was your first and only love. In your mind and heart, he would be your last love. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t. “I love you. Do you hear me? I love you!” you shouted, angry at him for doing this, for putting you in this position. Maybe the anger was just an early stage of grief yet to follow.

“I know,” he quietly says into the phone. “But you were just another part of the game.”

At his words, your heart fell out of your chest.

“I… what?” you gasped, trying to catch up.

“Just another step in the plan to make me seem more normal. John had been on me about being more human so... so I chose you, to play the part.”

“No,” you whispered, disbelief coloring your tone as you shook your head.

“Yes,” he insisted. “If I had it my way, I’d have picked Irene. She was, after all, the first woman to truly catch my eye. I could never love you, because you’d always be the other woman in my eyes. It was Irene that I loved… Not you.” Another moment passed, and you wanted to say something, anything, but your mind was spinning too fast for you to fathom a response. “I’m sorry.”

Before you could respond, he held his had out and dropped the phone beside him.

“Sherlock!” you screamed, louder than you’d ever screamed in your life. Your heart was beating so fast, you thought a heart attack was imminent.  

But he ignored you, he held his arms out to his sides and stepped off. He fell for what seemed like forever, and yet, it seemed like an instant. You wanted to move, to catch him, to break his fall, to… something! But you couldn’t move.

Not until you heard the sound of his body hitting the pavement. That sickeing sound. You’d never heard anything like that.

For a moment, you swayed, sure that you would throw up or that your buckling knees would give out. Then your mind started to work again and you began running towards him, but a bicyclist had hit you, knocking you to the ground. In your shocked state, you didn’t feel it, but your head had smacked against the pavement.

Finally, you stood up and stumbled your way over to him. There was blood... so much blood. A crowd of people tried to hold you back.

“No, he’s my boyfriend!” you shouted, pushing through them until you landed in front of him. Within a second, your brother was at your side.

“Y/N...Y/N,” he said, looking at you. “Oh, God,” he moaned, his face going to Sherlock’s body. “Sherlock… Sherlock…” he whispered in a daze.

You went to reach towards him but people kept pulling you off of him. John tried to take his pulse, but someone had gotten his hand away too.

A gurney rolled up with paramedics and they turned him over, his lifeless eyes staring up, his hair matted in blood. That was all you needed for the light to leave your own eyes as you passed out on the ground next to his body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[sherlock-one-shots]

Pushed Aside (Sherlock X Reader)

(Gif is not mine. Originally posted by this user)

This was requested by anonymous: I just rewatched the Irene Adler episode and I need something where Reader confronts Sherlock about being pushed to the side during the ordeal. (Bonus points if an unintended pregnancy can be worked into it)

Alright, ladies and gents, here we go! Warning: A bit of swearing (only one or two curse words, I think, nothing absolutely horrible).

You sighed after his phone. Except the sighs were much different. The one that came from his phone came from the scum of the earth and was one of pleasure. Yours was one of pure annoyance. Seventeen texts from Irene Adler this morning alone. Seventeen times that phone went off. Seven times you restarted your story. Ten times he didn’t ask you to continue. Just checked his phone. He never replied. He told you so himself and you believed it, you never saw him type a word. But he checked it and that was enough to make your blood boil. It ruined your morning, it ruined your night the night before, it ruined your mood, and was in the process of ruining your relationship and sanity. You had met Irene Adler in her home, as she flaunted around, naked, wearing nothing but a full face of makeup and heels that would have broken your feet in two seconds flat. You had to admit, if you looked like her you might walked about naked as well, but you didn’t (at least you didn’t think so). But it was worse when she shoved her nakedness right in Sherlock’s face, ignoring the fact that you, his wife, was sitting right there, watching it all. John sensed your annoyance but Sherlock, however, did not. He put his phone back in his pocket, putting his hands in the prayer position underneath his chin and closing his eyes. Thinking about the woman, you thought bitterly. No doubt about it. XXXXXXX The phone hadn’t made a sound in almost three hours (a new record!). Now was your chance. Nervously, you sat in John’s chair, across from Sherlock. John was out getting the shopping, and Sherlock had been in a great mood all evening, so it was the perfect moment. It was as if all of the stars aligned. “Hey.” You said, getting his attention. He stared at you, brow raised. He could tell you were nervous and he didn’t know exactly why. “Hello.” He responded. “Can we talk?” “We’re talking right now.” You cocked your head, trying not to smile. “You know what I mean, Holmes.” “Yes, I know what you mean.” he nodded. You waited for him to say something, giving the ‘okay’ for you to continue. He did so with a nod. “Oh, well...” You didn’t know how to word it, you hadn’t really planned how you were going to tell him.  “Well, I know we never really…..talked about….” you shrugged, still trying to find the words. Just as you found them and quickly formulated a speech in your head, the phone moaned and his attention shifted. “Hold that thought.” he said, quickly getting up and walking to the other side of the room to retrieve his mobile. You didn’t hold that thought, though. You let the thought die and decided that you would tell him some other time when he was free from all distractions. You would just plan a doctor’s visit alone, go alone, and wonder if he’ll notice, or look up from the moaning phone as you walk in and out of 221B, ever-growing. You rose from the chair, going back to your shared bedroom, trying to stop yourself from slamming the door loudly enough that he might notice. XXXXXXX “You alright?” John asked, sitting beside you on the couch, a drink in hand. “Fine, why?” “Well, you just...” he shrugged. “You’ve seemed upset the past few days. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” “I’m fine.” You answered shortly. John didn’t buy it, though. “Is it about Irene?” You didn’t answer which was all the answer he needed. “Look, I understand that it’s annoying, but this is all going to blow over soon. This case will end and he’ll find another one that catches his attention.” “Are you sure about that?” You wondered. “He does really seem to like her. Pushing me to the side just to check her texts, paying a lot of attention to her. He has to, knowing her measurements and all.” You argued. “I’m sure he knows everyone’s, hers were just...relevant in the moment.” He said slowly. You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Are you worried? That he might come to like her more than you?” “She did make quite the impression.” You answered. “And she’s much more interesting than I am.” “(Y/N), Listen to me, if Sherlock Holmes falls in love with another woman then Hell would have frozen over. It doesn’t take a genius to see how in love he is with you.” “I wish I could see it now.” XXXXXXX “Good morning.” Sherlock greeted you as you entered the kitchen the next day, still in pyjamas, hair a mess. “Morning.” You said quickly, hoping you wouldn’t get interrupted again. You weren’t on Sherlock’s levels of observation by no means, but you picked up a few things. You could tell that Sherlock hadn’t slept much last night and his phone was in his back pocket as opposed to his jacket pocket-easier to get to. “Did you sleep well?” “Fine.” You nodded. You could feel his eyes following you as you made you breakfast. “Are you alright?” He asked a bit hesitantly. He could tell you were upset. “Peachy.” “Liar.” “I’m fine.” You snapped. Honestly, you didn’t want to talk to him at all. You two maintained eye contact. Sherlock was confused while you were furious. The phone hadn’t even gone off yet. Hormones, you guessed. But your anger was justified. The phone moaned, as if on cue, and you took a deep breath. “Liar.” He repeated. This time he didn’t even reach for his phone. You had his attention now, and you didn’t even want it. You huffed, turning back to your breakfast. “(Y/N), what’s the matter.” “What makes you think anything is wrong?” You asked, ready to debunk any reasons he might suggest, only to get him off of your back. “You’re being very short-” “I’m tired.” “-you’re being incredibly passive-aggressive,” “When am I not?” “-and you have been trying to tell me something the past few days but you never finish. You’re nervous about something-something’s wrong and I would like to know what it is.” “Well maybe if you paid attention to anyone but Irene Adler for the past few days you would be able to figure it out, genius.” You answered. “That’s what this is about? Irene Adler? A case?” “A woman.” You corrected him. “A woman who gets your attention every time she moans through your phone.” “Oh, you know as well as I do that I didn’t set that as the text alert noise!” “Well you haven’t changed it!” You yelled. He stayed silent, not having an answer. You were right. You took the opportunity to keep going. “Since the moment Irene Adler walked in naked, flaunting her assets, you haven’t been able to pay attention to anything, or anyone else. I have been trying to tell you something. Something incredibly important, but every time, she texts you, and you just get up and leave. You look at the text and I’m left hanging. I don’t care that you look at them, if it’s really for the case, like you say, but I’ve been pushed aside this whole time. You’ve only cared about Irene Adler and whatever interesting things she’s been telling you. Those texts have got to be pretty damn good if you drop everything to read them.” Silence, once again. “If you like her more than you like me, I don’t blame you.” You told him honestly. “I think she’s downright horrible, but she’s interesting, better looking-” “Beauty is a social construc-” He didn’t get to finish. “-and all around a better fit for you. Just tell me and I can find somewhere for us to go.” “’Us’?” Sherlock asked. “Yes, ‘us’?” “Who is ‘us’? Would you take John with you?” He asked. “No.” “Then who?” You only stared at him, watching his face go from pure, complete confusion, to revelation. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the past few days.” “You’re pregnant?” “That’s what Irene Adler was more important than.” “Pregnant?” he asked quietly, almost as if he didn’t believe it. You had no idea how he would react-if he would be happy and excited, like you were, or upset, since it wasn’t really planned. The two of you never really talked about kids at length, but both of you agreed that, with Sherlock’s line of work, it might not be such a great idea. “Yes.” You stared at each other, waiting for the other one to move or speak. “Do you really, really think” Sherlock began slowly. “that I would choose Irene Adler over you?” “Yes.” He looked hurt. Beyond hurt. “Never.” He shook his head, taking small steps towards you. “Never in a million years.” “Then why is she so interesting to you?” You wondered. It just didn’t make sense to you. “Because she’s a case. She got the best of me, getting the photos back, and Mycroft told me not to get involved. I can’t help it, I have to take the case if it’s something Mycroft forbids.” he attempted to make you laugh. You weren’t as angry anymore, just confused, and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile at the childish mentality your husband had regarding his brother. “It’s an interesting case, I have to admit that. There’s much more to this case than meets the eyes, much more than I can see. But that’s all it is, (Y/N). That’s all she is. A case. “And I’m sorry.” He apologized. “For not listening to you, I mean. I should have. I have no excuses for that.” You didn’t know what to say. You just pressed your lips together and nodded. “Are you alright?” He asked again. You only nodded. “I mean, with the baby. Everything’s fine? Nothing’s wrong?” “Everything's alright.” You nodded again. “Just a bit of morning sickness, but nothing too serious. I haven’t been to the doctor yet.” “When do you go?” “Monday.” You had made the appointment that previous evening, while Sherlock was out. “I’ll clear my schedule for Monday, then.” He grinned. “And you’re fine?” I asked. “What with?” “With the baby, I mean. I thought we agreed not to have kids. Not yet, anyway.” You were worried about his response and he thought about it for a few, agonizing seconds. “It’s not something that we planned, (Y/N), and it’s a shock, one that’ll really hit me in a few minutes, I  believe, but we’ll be fine.” He walked closer to you, placing his hands on your shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “They’ll be loved, one of the most protected babies in Britain, and they’ll have the best mother in the world.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s true. You have a kind and gentle heart, they’ll adore you almost as much as we’ll adore them. I guarantee it.” “And you know it all?” You asked. “Of course I do. I’m Sherlock Holmes.” he joked. You swatted his chest. “You’re an arrogant git.” You responded, gently pushing him away. “Now, let me make my breakfast. I’m starving.” The phone moaned, but Sherlock didn’t leave your side, helping you prepare your morning meal and eating with you, both of you conversing without distraction. I hope this is what you wanted. And I got the pregnancy in there! Thank you so much for this request, I had so much fun writing it! Requests are OPEN!

[the-whump-files]

fic: “in the wee, small hours”

TITLE: “in the wee, small hours” FANDOM: X-Files CHARACTERS: Dana Scully, Fox Mulder AUTHORS: the-whump-files {my girlfriend beta’d, but since she’s not part of this community {{she just loves me a lot}} her identity is staying anonymous} RATING: Teen {some very mild sexual innuendo and language} TAGS: whump, hurt/comfort, sneezefic, x files, msr AUTHORS’ NOTES: look, there is not NEARLY enough Scully-centric whump fic out there, and I consider it my life’s mission to change that sad fact. SUMMARY: In which Scully is sick during a stakeout and Mulder is teasing and there's lots of bantering because what else do you do on stakeouts, right? {Also lots of comforting and snuggles, because of course there are.} SPOILERS: None! A few references to the show, but nothing major. FEEDBACK: Always gratefully accepted and appreciated!

“Goddammit,” she hisses.

She should’ve thought this through.

She’s just barely, finally gotten the glove compartment to shut--and stay shut--when Mulder opens the driver's side door. A blast of frigid air follows him in, and she shivers as it dissipates around her already well-chilled form. More cold air shoots out of the vents as Mulder turns the key in the ignition; in typical federal government fashion, their FBI-leased rental is a shitty mid-80s Taurus with a moody heating system. Mulder seems content, though, even pleased: smiling and very slightly vibrating the way he always is when they’re en route to their latest X-File. Scully often finds it charming (she’d never in a million years tell him that) but tonight it strikes her primarily as smug and annoying, and she huffs impatiently from the passenger seat. His eyebrows raise and he casts her an irritatingly cheery sideways glance, which only annoys Scully further.

“What are you so smiley about?” It has been silent but for the pathetic chugging of the engine for the first few minutes of their drive, and when she hears her words hit the air they have more of an edge than she’d intended.

He doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead he hums along to the CD (Tom Waits--he does have good taste; she’s regularly grateful that their musical interests are so closely aligned) for a few minutes, pretending not to hear her, and at first she thinks he really hasn’t. As the song finishes, he answers: “Nothing like a good stakeout to keep life interesting.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “I can think of fifty other things I’d rather be doing tonight,” she says.

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. Watching Law and Order. Sleeping. Cleaning my oven. Shoving bamboo shoots under my nails. Committing hara-kiri. Literally anything else.”

He turns to her, and he still seems amused, but there’s confusion mixed in there now, too; this isn’t quite her thing in the way that it’s his, but she’s not usually quite this violently opposed to it, either.

“Someone’s in a mood tonight,” he comments softly.

Scully sighs. “Sorry,” she says. “Just tired, I guess.” She shivers again, then sticks her hands out towards the vents--cold air is still rushing out of them, even though the engine should be more than warmed up by now. “Mulder, do you have the heat turned on?”

He glances at the dials, then frowns. “Yeah,” he says. “I do. Weird.” He fidgets with them a little, but nothing changes. He shrugs, and turns them off completely. “I guess it’s broken.”

Scully shuts her eyes and resists the urge to groan. Of course it’s broken. She wraps her arms tighter around her chest and pulls her legs in closer to her body. She considers delving into her hastily packed glove box of rations, but decides against it for reasons of personal dignity. “How long until we get there?” she asks.

“Fifteen minutes,” Mulder answers. “Maybe twenty.”

Scully leans her head against the window. “Great,” she mumbles. “Just great.”

Mulder stops suddenly at a newly red traffic light, and the glove box pops comically open; it bangs against Scully’s knees and she hisses in pain. “Don’t tell me that’s broken, too,” Mulder says, but frowns when he realizes it opened because it was full to bursting. “Did someone leave all their stuff in here?”

“No,” Scully says, grunting slightly as she unsuccessfully tries to shut it again but it just won’t fucking CLICK. “It’s mine.”

“Blankets?” Mulder asks, grinning and waggling his eyebrows. “You brought blankets? Scully, did you have something in mind?”

“Oh, my God.”

“Because though we don’t have a hotel room at the moment, that can easily be arranged.”

“Mulder.”

“And is that a flask?” he exclaims, utterly delighted. “Agent Doctor Dana Straightlaced Scully, I’m shocked. Did you bring enough to share with the class?”

“It’s hot chocolate,” she says grumpily.

“My question still stands.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to share this with me.”

Mulder scoffs. “Yeah, I think I’ll make that decision for myself.”

Scully exhales with practiced patience. “Let me rephrase,” she says. “You can’t share this with me.”

“I don’t see why I can’t--tissues? Why do you have three whole boxes of--? Oh,” Scully can almost see the light bulb appear and flash on over Mulder’s head. “Oh.”

“Shut up, Mulder,” Scully says with a tired little sniffle.

“I didn’t say anything,” Mulder says, and if he weren’t driving, Scully knows both hands would be up in the air in mock surrender.

“Yeah,” she grumbles, “but I heard you thinking it.”

Mulder just laughs.

* * *

It’s sleeting and all of 38 degrees outside, and they’ve been sitting in an empty parking lot for close to an hour now. Mulder can feel the rash of tiredness and boredom beginning to scratch at the backs of his eyes; Scully is faring far worse. She hasn’t stopped shivering since they left, and she occasionally sniffles into the cuff of her blazer. Mulder can’t quite tell if it’s from the cold outside or from the cold she likely has; Scully hasn’t said anything, but he suspects it’s a mix of the two. Though, of course, as she has been known to remind him, he isn’t a medical doctor.

Another shiver wracks through Scully, and finally Mulder asks, “You cold over there?”

“No,” Scully says firmly, holding very still as she tries to control her chills. Blue-lipped and pale, she looks like a child who leapt fully clothed into the creek and is being forced to serve her due time-out in a belligerent, adorable caricature of misery.

“You know,” Mulder says, “I seem to recall there being some blankets in that glove box. Just throwing that out there.”

“How very observant of you, Mulder.”

“Blankets are very warm.”

The corners of Scully’s mouth twitch, but she doesn’t smile. “Right again, Sherlock.”

Slowly, very slowly, Mulder opens the glove box and retrieves a purple and especially cozy fleece blanket. Unfolding it halfway--it’s made for a queen bed, but Dana Scully isn’t quite a queen-bed-sized human--he drapes it over Scully’s legs and lap and pats it gently a few times, like it’s a sleepy kitten. The shivering she’d been trying so valiantly to suppress begins to slow almost immediately. “Well,” Mulder says, “would you look at that.”

Scully pointedly ignores him and instead plays absently with the delicate gold crucifix hanging around her neck (it’s one of her tells; Scully is a remarkably cool-headed human being, but even she has them). If Mulder had a betting partner, he’d place money that it’ll take Scully at least ten minutes to make any more use of the blanket, assuming she even chooses to do so at all. Mulder checks the clock: 11:06. He decides to give it until 11:17.

They sit in a silence that’s become comfortable after so many stakeouts in their years together, and 11:17 comes and goes. Scully hasn’t even glanced at the blanket, and Mulder is long past the point of knowing whether or not her stubbornness is endearing or frustrating as hell or some baffling combination of both; all he knows is that Scully isn’t going to fully use it willingly and that he can’t stand to see her shiver one more time. He takes the blanket and unfolds it completely, then drapes it over Scully’s shoulders; she moves almost imperceptibly to allow him to wrap her more closely into it. Once she’s been properly tucked in, Mulder rubs her arms vigorously a few times. He grips each of her small hands in his larger ones; they’re like ice, and he wishes they had a pair of gloves. This will have to do. Not that I mind...

Scully doesn’t look pleased, but she doesn’t shrug the blanket off, either. Mulder considers that progress.

* * *

“Strip poker.”

“No.”

“Come on, Scully.”

“Mulder,” Scully says, “it is freezing outside-”

“Six degrees above freezing, actually,” Mulder points out.

Scully makes a growly sound through her teeth. “It’s six degrees above freezing outside,” she amends. “I’m not stripping out of anything.” She’d wordlessly added a second blanket to her purple fleece one around 12:15, and to underscore her point she pulls both of them more snugly around her. Only her face is visible, really: the pinkened tip of her nose, her freckled cheeks that are flushed in the way they always get when she’s sick. Mulder bites back a smirk.

“That’s it?” he says. “That’s the only reason we can’t play strip poker? Because it’s too cold outside?” He leans back in his seat. “Man,” he continues. “I’m gonna remind you that you said that when we’re on a stakeout in August.”

Scully makes a small sound in the back of her throat that could be from illness, or expressing irritation, or both. Likely both. “Never Have I Ever?” Mulder suggests, but Scully shakes her head.

“I’m not playing a game that involves making personal confessions,” she says.

“Do you really think there are any deep dark things I don’t already know about you, Scully?”

Scully raises her chin a few notches. “I,” she says, her small voice going theatrically deep and haughty, “am a woman of mystery.” Mulder laughs out loud. She smiles a bit--the first time that night--pleased with herself and with her partner’s reaction.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Twenty Questions?” It’s a pretty harmless game, he figures, one not even Scully can find fault with.

He’s right.

“Fine,” she acquiesces with a yawn that turns into a sneeze. “Hehhh-mptchh! Twenty Questions is fine. Do you want to go first, or shall I?”

“You think of something,” Mulder instructs. “I’ll guess.”

Scully pauses for a moment, and Mulder knows she’s running through various options in her head; she’s wearing her thinking expression, her pensive expression--her mouth set primly and her eyes staring blank--which is just something anyone would come to recognize after working this closely with a person for so long, Mulder tells himself.

“Okay,” Scully says. “Go.”

“Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

“Well,” Scully says, smiling slightly, “technically it’s none of those.”

Mulder stares at her. “You can’t make anything easy, can you?”

“Never.” There’s a little glimmer of impishness in her light eyes when she says it, and it’s equal parts relieving and--okay, fine--and adorable.

He gets eight questions in and he knows for a fact that it’s a TV show, and by question nine he’s pretty sure it’s The West Wing (he is a trained profiler and Scully is sometimes hilariously transparent; it’s her favorite show as of late), and he’s about to ask question ten when he gets an idea. “Does this thing,” he says slowly, as if he’s deliberating it, “have… a stuffy nose?”

Scully makes her patented what-in-God’s-name-are-you-talking-about-Mulder face and says, “Mulder, we’ve established that it’s a television show.”

“Does it have a stuffy nose?” he repeats obstinately.

“Mulder,” Scully says (her consonants are warped and dull, the m in Mulder especially, and while it may not have a stuffy nose, Mulder notes, she absolutely does), “the thing in question isn’t me. And even if it were, the answer would still be no.”

Undeterred, he regroups. "Does this show have an ensemble cast?"

Scully looks at him suspiciously, unsure of why he's suddenly willing to play along again, but simply says: "yes."

"Is this show airing on TV now?" He fires off the next question without pausing, and Scully blinks sleepily as she tries to adjust her groggy mind to his fast pace.

"Yes."

"Does it have a sore throat?"

Yes, so sore, she thinks. She swallows hard and tries not to visibly wince. "TV show, Mulder."

"Is it a drama?"

"Yes."

"Do I like it?"

"Not really, but you watch it with me because I do."

"Is it feverish?" She doesn't even bother gracing that one with a response.

Mulder gets to question seventeen and decides that he’s done being subtle: “Does this thing feel awful?”

“Possibly,” Scully sighs, surprising him. “Slightly.”

“Was that an affirmative answer?” Mulder asks. “It’s supposed to be yes or no, Scully, but I can make an exception.”

Scully blinks, caught in his trap, then scowls. “I just wanted to get the damn game over with,” she huffs. Mulder catches a whiff of her breath--is that… alcohol?

“You sure that flask only had hot chocolate in it, Scully?” he asks. (She’d opened it around the same time she’d gotten her second blanket, and true to her word has not shared a sip.)

“What do you mean?”

“No peppermint schnapps?”

“What?--no, I have not been drinking schnapps.” Scully looks scandalized at the very thought.

“But your breath--” Mulder murmurs, then it occurs to him. “Cough drops.” He offers her a knowing, sideways glance. Scully frowns, but pulls the little package of Ricola lemon throat lozenges out of her pocket, confirming his guess without meeting his eyes. “I take it the thing really does feel awful?” Mulder says, nudging her slightly.

Possibly. Slightly. “Nope,” Scully says, and pops a lozenge in her mouth. “Just have to get my kicks however I can, Mulder.”

Mulder rolls his eyes; Scully must rubbing off on him. “You were thinking of The West Wing,” he says petulantly, too frustrated to let her have her last few questions.

“You knew the whole time,” Scully says. “Didn’t you?”

“Not the whole time,” Mulder says. “Maybe around question three.” It was pretty obvious, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

“Shut up, Mulder.”

* * *

It’s nearing 2:00 and Scully has spent the better part of the last hour trying to sniffle her increasingly runny nose back to composure. They're all out of games; it’s becoming abundantly clear that the stakeout is a total bust. Scully is pale and drawn and shivering again, even cocooned in her blankets. She also keeps having sneezing fits, irrepressible ones, that leave her worryingly wheezy; Mulder has taken to counting during them to hide just how nervous they make him. "It happens when I gehh--hit'chiiEEEww! G-get chilly," she explains during a particularly bad one. "My nose s-starts to run and...and...ahhh...ah'Nngsh! And then I can't st-stop...oh, my Gohhh...God...hihh'hitchiEEw! "

"Sneezing? That one was nine, by the way."

She nods blearily. "Yeah," she says. "That."

"Probably doesn't help that you're sick," Mulder says in an off-hand voice.

Scully isn't fooled. She scowls and tentatively sniffles, mindful of setting her nose off again. "Mulder, for the hundredth time," she says. "Not sick."

He bats at her nose. "Yeah," he says as she halfheartedly bats his hand away, "healthy people are always all...drippy here."

She pouts and looks ready to argue, but Mulder keeps going. "You've been coughing, too."

"It's post-nasal drip, Mulder. That's all."

"And where's that coming from, hmm?"

"Where's it--? Mulder, it's coming from my nose."

"So your nose is runny."

"Mulder!" Scully snaps. "It's cold outside and it's cold in this car; of course my nose is runny. That's a natural bodily response to near-freezing temperatures."

“You know what?” Mulder says. “You're right. About the nose thing." He gives an exaggerated sniff. “Mine is starting to get a bit drippy, too.” He opens the glove box and pulls what might be close to twenty tissues out; he loudly fake-blows his nose on one of them, and then opens the window and throws the rest out into the parking lot. “That’s better.”

Scully gasps. “Mulder!” she exclaims. “What did you do that for? We might need those!”

“Need them?” Mulder says, playing at confusion. “What ever for?” She huffs and rolls her eyes; he isn’t looking at her, but he can feel it. “You haven’t been putting them to much use tonight, Scull.”

She looks slightly flustered and she stares longingly out the window, where the once-good tissues are going to waste on the cold, dark asphalt. “Well,” she says, “anyway, you just littered, which is illegal. You rebel.” If she were in a much better mood and/or vaguely inebriated, she might have punctuated that statement with a punch to his arm. Mulder grins at the thought.

“Covering up government conspiracies is illegal, too, Scully; but that doesn’t seem to stop anyone, now does it?”

Scully sneezes quietly, twice, in response. "Hih'chshh! H'ngsht!"

“There are still some tissues left,” Mulder says, but Scully merely repeats her customary cuff-sniffle and shrugs.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says flatly.

“Scully,” Mulder says, wholly exasperated now, “you’re the one who brought them in the first place.”

She sneezes again. “Bless you,” Mulder offers, which only earns him a glare.

“Shut up, Mulder.”

“I was being nice!”

“Well, don’t,” Scully says.

“Fine, I won't.”

They grow quiet again, and this time it’s for so long that Mulder wonders if Scully’s maybe fallen asleep; he almost hopes she has, sleep would be good for her. He worries that she doesn’t get enough of it. He knows he doesn’t. After all the things that they’ve seen, all the things that they’ve done, it’s not surprising. Unpleasant, sure, but not surprising.

It is at that moment that Scully inhales sharply and just barely manages to catch three surprisingly violent, loud sneezes in her cupped hands. "Hep-TSSCH'ooo! Hehh...hetchiiieeeEEEw! Huh-ISCHIIIEEEW!

Startled, Mulder turns to look at her; a few seconds pass and she still hasn’t taken her hands down from her face. If it weren’t for the garish melon glow of the nearest streetlamp--or, more honestly, if he didn’t have such wildly accurate Scully-senses and a detailed mental schematic of her facial features--Mulder would never have been so lucky as to see what he’s pretty sure he is in fact seeing: Dana Scully blushing.

“Mulder?” she says, her voice muffled.

“Yeah?” He does a surprisingly good job keeping the amused/self-satisfied smirk out of his voice for the entire monosyllabic word.

“Could I maybe have some of those remaining tissues now?”

“Feeling a little under the weather, are we, Scull? Gesundheit, by the way."

Scully mumbles something unintelligible into her hands, and as he pulls a handful of tissues out for her, Mulder says, “Yeah, yeah, I know: shut up, Mulder.”

"Actually," Scully says between nose-blows, with a small but genuine half smile, "I was going to say thank you."

* * *

It’s 3:45 and Mulder has reached the point where he’s too tired to even feel tired anymore; instead, he’s weirdly nervy and wired and running on nothing but caffeinated iced tea and adrenaline reserves. Scully nodded off around 3:00, and though he misses her company, he doesn’t have the heart to wake her. Her head is resting on his shoulder and she’s snoring slightly through her congested nose; at one point, she whimpers and shivers slightly, and Mulder takes off his jacket and adds it to the blankets she’s already using. It dwarfs her, but the shivering stops, and that makes him smile.

He loves her. He thinks of that often when they’re out on a case together: on long watches like this one, in the cloying dark of a million different drab motel rooms, under blankets of stars as they race through the night--trying their damndest to solve the unsolvable. It’s never some silly, Victorian declaration of affection, never oh, Scully, my dearest darling, every moment I spend without you near me is well-nigh unbearable. His mind wanders to C.S. Lewis, to The Four Loves. Storge--empathy bond. Philia--friend bond. Eros--erotic bond. And Agape--unconditional love. God love. He doesn’t know that he buys into all this, doesn’t know that he trusts someone as religious as Lewis, doesn’t even know if one can actually experience all four kinds for the same person at the same time, if all that love could even fit into any one person… especially when said person is so very small.

And yet. Still.

He loves her. I love you. Neither of them ever say that aloud; that would be crossing a boundary that’s invisible yet still very, very present. And anyway, that would feel far too easy, too predictable, too trite. In so many ways, their relationship defies words, platitudes, logic. It is infuriating. It is impossible. It is terrifying. It is all-encompassing. It is theirs. He’s hers, and she’s his. They don’t need to say anything for that to be true. It’s always been true. It’s been true ever since a rainy graveyard in Bellefleur, Oregon, where she stood in front of him and laughed, dizzy and thrilled, because she believed.

He doesn’t know if she loves him in the same way; he suspects it, sometimes even lets himself hope it, but this is an area where Scully is all but unreadable. But it’s alright. Being present with her, close to her--that’s enough, for now.

Next to him, Scully stirs, blinks her eyes open, coughs. Mulder very nearly takes a hand and smooths an errant lovelock behind her small ear, but decides against it. The hand drops heavily down onto the car seat. “I think you drooled on me,” he says.

She quickly wipes a hand over the corner of her mouth, a gesture that makes her look about twelve years old. “Sorry,” she says, her voice little and raspy, which makes hersound about twelve years old, too. Mulder is more charmed than he’d like to admit.

“Any updates?” Scully asks, dabbing delicately at her nose with a tissue.

(TissueGate 1999 ended not too long ago and Scully’s already used up over half a box. With what he considers to be an impressive amount of self-control, Mulder has restrained himself from saying I told you so. Thank you very much.)

“Nope.”

Scully’s face works itself into a funny, exaggerated pout. “I could’ve been in bed hours ago,” she whines.

“And missed all this?!” Mulder exclaims, gesturing at the sad expanse of abandoned shopping center parking lot.

Scully giggles tiredly. “Oh, you’re right,” she says mock-seriously. “Missing out on the empty parking lot show would’ve been a veritable tragedy.”

She blows her nose, and this time Mulder actually does tuck the hair behind her ear. Scully looks up in surprise. “Mulder--” she says, half-touched, half-warning.

“I’m just sorry you had to do this when you don’t feel well. That’s all,” he says, hoping it’s a good enough explanation.

She shrugs. “I told you, Mulder,” she says. “I’m fine.”

He narrows his eyes. “You,” he says, “are the opposite of fine, Scully.”

As if to prove his point, Scully opens her mouth to retort and sneezes instead. She shivers, and finally (finally) leans into him, shamelessly greedy for the warmth his body offers. “Okay,” she says. “I may have a little cold.” Now Mulder is this close to saying I told you so, he can’t help it, when Scully holds up a hand. “Just a little one,” she says firmly. “A slight cold. A minuscule one, even.”

“A minute cold,” he repeats, deadpan.

Scully slumps down further, until her head is almost in his lap (which is how he knows she truly is sick and exhausted; someone walking by would automatically assume something much dirtier was going on, and Healthy Scully would never allow that risk). She’s so short that she can easily tuck her legs underneath herself and fit comfortably on the two seats. She shuts her eyes, and when Mulder ghosts a tentative hand over her back, her happy sigh is confirmation enough that it’s okay.

“A minuscule cold,” she confirms, sweet and drowsy.

“Whatever you say, Scully.”

“You’re damn right,” she murmurs, and before Mulder has even finished laughing, she’s already fallen back to sleep.

Mulder glances at the clock. 4:19. If they wait long enough they might even get to watch the sunrise.

[superprincesspea]

Knock, Chapter 4

You have a surprise that you don’t want to share with Simon.

Simon/You, Mild gore, Mentions of vomiting. 

Words: 1392

Chapter 1    Chapter 2    Chapter 3  

You didn’t need a trip to Doctor Carson’s office to know that you were pregnant. Your body had told you that even if you’d been trying to ignore all the signs. First you’d blamed your missing period on stress. Then, when you’d started to the experience the morning sickness that was never quite contained to only the morning, you’d spent three days convincing yourself it was just a stomach bug. You supposed in a way it was, a baby bug hitching a ride in your womb and right now it felt like it was draining the life right out of you.

You glance at Simon, he’s standing in the middle of the road talking to Negan, even laughing with Negan and you wonder what his reaction would be if he knew the truth. You just don’t wonder it enough to actually tell him. You’ve been avoiding him since your skinny dip and for almost a month he’s let you. Today isn’t going to be any different. You’ll keep trying to force your head into the sand and he’ll remain blissfully unaware, you envy him of that.

“There’s more,” Arat warns and you try not to roll your eyes as you turn to see yet another group of roamers ambling onto the freeway. With a sigh you raise your knife, telling yourself that you can do this, that it will be dark soon and you can make it until then just like all the other times you’ve helped clear the dead. Truthfully, you’ve been ready for bed since you’d gotten out of bed this morning and you’re one kill away from crawling into a truck to take a nap no matter who might see or question it.

You trail behind the others, everyone else is already driving knives through skulls like it’s a competition and you don’t know which idiot it is that slices open the stomach of a roamer but you do know that the smell hits you like nothing else. You double over, no chance to hide it or aim it as the remains of your own stomach purges half on your shoes and half on the road.

“Nice,” Arat laughs at you, “that's the third time I've seen you chuck up today, I didn’t realise you were such a pussy.”

“She’s not,” Laura counters as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and take the bottle of water she offers.

Your heartbeat quickens, you thought you’d done a good job of hiding your nausea and you can feel people staring even if you’re doing your best not to look. When Arat speaks again her voice is loud. In fact, it sounds loud enough to travel all the way back to the Sanctuary when she says, “you’re not knocked up are you?”

You spit your water straight out of your mouth, trying not to glance at Simon but doing it anyway. He’s looking directly at you, well, more like staring as memories of last month obviously slot into place, his face twitching, his long legs quickly striding your way.

Fuck. Escape seems like the best option so you turn on your heel and begin to walk, barely making it more than four paces before Simon’s hand is hooking under your elbow to the tune of Negan declaring, in the obnoxious way that only he can,  “I guess we all know who the baby Daddy is.”

A chorus of laughter follows and you don’t look at anything but your soiled shoes as Simon  steers you away from the others only letting your arm out of his hand when you’re standing behind a truck and out of sight of everyone else.

When you dare to look at him he’s pacing, stroking his fingers over his mustache as his mind whirrs. You can practically hear the hum of what you’re sure are a million different thoughts racing around and when he finally speaks the first thing he says is hardly the most elaborate, “pregnant?”

No shit Sherlock. You can’t look at him now that you have his attention, you stare off into space and shrug a very non committal, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

His tone is more concerned than accusatory but you still glare at him, you don’t want his concern, “I haven’t taken a test, but what does it matter anyway? It makes no difference to you.”

Simon laughs, shaking his head like you’ve just made the biggest joke he’s ever heard. “If you’re carrying my kid then it makes a big fucking difference to me.”

The last thing you want is to be some sort of charity case, “it’s not your problem.”

His smile simmers down, his eyes narrowing with sincerity, “it's not a problem.”

“Isn’t it?” you choke and when he presses his palm against your belly you lose all control as a rush of emotions begins bubbling for release. You couldn’t stop the tears even if you wanted to and when they burst free Simon wrap his arms around you, squeezing you tight as all the worry pours out in ugly sobs you’re sure everyone can hear.

When you’ve finished and your throat is hoarse you wipe your nose on the end on his shirt and he lets you without complaint. You’re embarrassed about crying even if you probably could blame most of it on the hormones but mostly you’re pissed. You didn’t want Simon to comfort you like that and you certainly didn’t want it to feel as safe as it did. From the moment you realised your condition you’d decided to put all the blame on him and his stupid mustache. It was easier than facing the reality that a moment of careless fun could have signed your death sentence, you didn’t want to accept that you could be as reckless as that.

You push him away, this baby could kill you and even if it doesn’t it's just gonna make your life more difficult than it already is. You’re not the type of woman to stand around crying and cuddling even if that’s exactly what you just did.

He grins despite the way you’re glaring at him and when he reaches out to touch you again you bat his hand away. “I’m not playing happy families with you Simon. This was a mistake because you can’t control your dick! If you wanna help me then you can… tell everyone it was you that was crying and…”

He starts laughing again, looking at you in a way that makes your stomach flutter with something other than nausea. You push the feeling away and focus on the irritating fact that he’s laughing at you, “just… leave me alone until I ask for your help.”

“Let me get this straight,” he chuckles, “you want me to tell everyone it was me wailing like a dying cat?”

Maybe it was stupid, in fact it was definitely a stupid request but you want him to do it anyway, “yes.”

“Fine,” he shrugs, his eyes dancing with amusement, “I’ll tell everyone I was crying like a girl. But, I won’t leave you alone.”

He doesn’t wait for your response, probably because he knows your response would be something along the lines of ‘tough shit’. He starts strolling back towards the group, a spring in his step and his arms out wide. “Looks like i’m gonna be a Daddy and I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried some tears of joy back there.”

You feel a smile threatening your face at the same time Negan pulls his, “really? That was you?”

“It was an emotional goddamn moment, a kid on the way and this hot mamacita has agreed to marry me.”

You can feel your face falling, your jaw practically hitting the floor and even though you want to scream something you don’t say a word. Partly because the shock has numbed your tongue but mostly because you’ve made enough scenes for one day, enough scenes for one entire year. So you remain motionless, clenching your fists at your side and silently seething as Simon turns, grinning like a buffoon and even having the the audacity to wink at you.

You smile sweetly. Sure, you might not be saying anything right now but you’ll be killing him when you get back to the Sanctuary.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. If you have any suggestion of what you would like to see happen next I am all ears.

Tagging: 

@strangersangel9​ //​ @ladylorelitany​ //​ @heartfulloffandoms​ //​ @robert-d-j-bernthal //​​ @isayweallgetdrunk //​​ @ayodaddydom​​ // @87dare2dream​​ // @negans-dirty-girl //​​ @ali-pennell​​ // @cherieann-2001​​ // @myheart4ever47​ //​ @kellyn1604​ //​ @melodicdolls​ //​ @bamby0304​ // @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash​ // @vizhi0n​ // @smuttwd​ // @magikat409 // @lucifers-trash-stash​ // @starshinesupergirl // @kitcat44 // @wadeyourebarelyalive​ // @texasgal2222​ // @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers​ // @female-x​ // @daintyunicorn //​ @ofdragonsanddreams16​ // @grab-my-boner​ // @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues //​ @asshatry //​ @backseat-negan // ​@supererogatoryblog //​ @megan-monroe​ // @lucianorsini // @negandaddyjdm​ // @gothica123 //​ @devilishcreature​ // @notice-me-senpai-sama @thatgingefromtheinternet // @collette04​ // @heal-the-broken-hearts​ //

[mintchocolateleaves]

Cost of Freedom (11/??)

Summary: In which Ran visits Shinichi. Prison ! AU 

[Beginning]    [Previous Chapter]     [Next Chapter]

Seventeen months ago:

“I didn’t do it.”

Saguru puts a hand to his forehead, rubbing at the creases in his forehead. He’s tired, having been working this case for over a month now, his eyes heavy in their sockets, begging him to rest. The only thing however, is that Hakuba Saguru does not have time for sleep.

In between attending KID heists, school work and trying to prove the innocence of one of the only people he has ever truly gotten along with, it is difficult to relax, to rest.

Saguru doesn’t quite want to sleep if it means waking up to this. The school work is easy - he almost thinks he should skip class for a while until everything returns to normal and Kudo-kun goes back to being a regular high schooler.

“I know you didn’t,” Saguru says, staring across at Kudo, smiling in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. It has never once crossed his mind that the other teen is actually guilty, he won’t believe it - not ever - because it’s just not the type of person Kudo is. “And I’ll prove it.”

From the cell he is being held in, awaiting a trial that Saguru will make sure ends with an innocent verdict, Kudo grins. He doesn’t look nervous, probably because he knows that he has done nothing wrong, that there is nothing for them to convict him of.

It’s just circumstantial evidence that has been found at each of the murder scenes. Kudo Shinichi is not a murderer, all Saguru needs to do is prove it.

“I know you will,” Kudo says, sitting back against the wall. “I believe in your skills as a detective.”

Saguru nods, and when he leaves, it is with determination weighing down on his shoulders, feeling almost as if it is the world he needs to carry. He feels like Atlas, holding the world up, the strain against it hurting but something only he can do.

He does not visit Kudo Shinichi again.

“Ran.”

Mouri Ran looks up, glances at Shinichi as he sits opposite her, and smiles.

There is a sadness lurking behind his eyes as he smiles back, something that’s only developed since she’s started visiting him, but Ran tries not to overthink it. Instead, she leans forward, takes his hand, and prepares for another visit.

(She attempts to forget that her visits are numbered but it is a difficult task.)

“Shinichi,” she replies, rubbing circles on his palms, “how are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” a lie, “this place is bearable, you know?”

There had been a time when Shinichi had not lied to her, but Ran knows that this is not the truth anymore. For someone who’d once valued the truth, he gives her nothing but falsehoods, words designed to offer reassurance where there is none.

Ran fills in the gaps: Shinichi is not doing well, and he is not coping.

“I’m glad.” She doesn’t call him out on it though, if it makes him feel better to know that she is reassured by his words, then she’d let him tell her a million lies. As long as she knows the truth, how he is really doing. At first, when he’d shut her out, she’d been left with a bitterness in her mouth, betrayal stinging her over and over again like a particularly malevolent wasp.

Then she’d managed to make him cave through phone calls and letters, until he’d finally sent out her first visiting order. She’d been uncertain at first whether he’d done what they’d accused him of, but the moment she had seen him, she had known.

Known that he was innocent.

“Tou-san’s still working on your case,” Ran says, searching for things to say.

It’s always difficult trying to find what they can and cannot talk about. School and life outside, no matter how much Shinichi asks, isn’t something she can go into. She cannot bring herself to remind him of all the things he is missing.

“He is…?” Shinichi says, and his smile flickers, almost as if he is battling against a frown. “He won’t find anything, you know. Not now.”

Ran knows that it’s unlikely that after a year they’ll find any new leads on Shinichi’s case, but she and her father haven’t given up - won’t give up on it. Even if her dad has tried to talk her out of looking into it further, he’s never told her to stop, and he’s never put the case files back onto the shelves.

“We will.” Ran says, although she can hear her own uncertainty. It’s not an easy case, someone has been thorough in making him seem culpable. “It’s just taking time, leave it to us, okay?”

Shinichi grimaces. And Ran realises it’s going to be one of those visits. One where he tries to push her away again - he’s never been good at fooling her, maybe to others he is unreadable, but Ran has spent far too long by his side to be fooled by pretend grins and empty words.

“I want you to drop the case.” Shinichi says, and Ran has to pretend it does not hurt as much as it does. It leaves a gaping wound in her chest, as if he has torn her heart out and is squeezing it before her eyes, waiting for her to crumble.

“I won’t.” Her voice is firm. They’ve had this conversation countless times and frankly, Ran’s tired of it. She wants to have nice conversations, wants to hear about him, the book he’s most recently read - she misses when he would gush over Sherlock Holmes to her.

Now instead of being faced with one truth, she is subjected to several lies that she has to sift through herself. This is not how their relationship is meant to work - and it hurts to see that it has deteriorated so much.

“Ran.” Shinichi says, “Please. You need to just let it go. There is no evidence that will prove my innocence.”

He pauses, chokes on words, before steeling himself. Well, Ran thinks, she’s not a Karate champion for nothing, she’s capable of taking whatever hits are frown at her. She can deflect them and she’s not afraid to throw them back.

“I did it.” He practically spits the words out, as if the words burn his tongue as he forms them, poison sizzling against muscle. “I killed those people, so stop trying to prove that I didn’t.”

Ran leans forward, and cups his cheek, and smiles. It’s so like him, she thinks, to tear himself apart simply because he thinks it will benefit her. She just hopes that he can understand, why she won’t let him hurt himself like that.

“Shinichi,” she stares into his eyes, keeping his gaze until he glances away, “I trust you, and I always will. But if you think you can convince me that you committed a crime like this, I can only say that I will never believe it.”

Shinichi pulls at his collar, and for a moment Ran sees purple bruises, many of them fading into a splotchy yellow. It makes her feel slightly sick, makes her want to grab onto his sleeve and drag him home so that he doesn’t have to deal with whatever is hurting him anymore.

“You are wasting your time here,” Shinichi says, “you should be outside trying to move on.”

There’s only two problems with that, Ran thinks.

Firstly, she can’t leave Shinichi behind, it’d be impossible to cut him out of her life, not after all of these years watching him out of the corner of her eye, not after loving him for this long.

Secondly - she doesn’t want to move on. Not unless she really has to.

“I’m not leaving you behind.” Ran says.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Shinichi narrows his eyes, turns away from her. “It’s only going to hurt you more if you keep coming to visit.”

She does not care much for the pain she might feel. Ran would rather see the two of them through to the end, even if it means turning her heart into dust, emotions aflame as if they’ve been set alight with gasoline.

Ran does not have time to respond, not before the shouting starts. It’s loud, and when Ran turns her head, eyes widening, she realises that the man looks scarily like Shinichi. It does not take long for her to add a name to the face - Kuroba Kaito, phantom thief KID - and it takes significantly less time to realise that he is bleeding, raw emotion replacing blood in the room.

“Kaito…” Shinichi mumbles, from behind her, and when Ran glances at him, she realises that he has gone pale. He is wincing.

He was your friend and he’s innocent. He’s going to die.

KID says the words that Ran has been too scared to say - Shinichi is going to die. She’s known since his trial, has known that there has been a countdown over his head, the number lessening with every passing day, but she has never let herself vocalise it. The moment she does, it becomes real.

“I am going to die.” Shinichi says once the shouting has stopped. He leans back against his chair, pulling his hand away from her. Ran flinches, scratches at one of her arms in an attempt to calm herself down. “There is nothing you can do that will change that.”

“I’ll get mum to appeal against the death penalty, we’ll get rid of it.” Ran tries. Desperation leaks into her voice, and maybe she is crying but she doesn’t necessarily think tears make her weak, they just make her honest with herself. “I won’t ever let you die.”

Shinichi hesitates. “Your mother is a brilliant lawyer, but she won’t be able to change my verdict. Please Ran.”

“I can’t just give up-”

“Listen Ran,” Shinichi leans forward, and it is almost as if he’s trying to memorise every part of her - the colour of her eyes, the laugh lines that have worn away at her cheeks. “I can’t keep this facade up, I can’t keep sitting down in this room and pretending it’s not going to happen, so please, let me give you this.”

She doesn’t quite feel like he’s giving her anything.

“I don’t want your last memory of me being one that’s painful, okay?” He continues, “so let’s enjoy this visit, and leave it like this. Let’s end it all on a happy note.”

But here is the thing, Ran doesn’t quite feel like this is a happy note.

“Okay.” She says anyway. She wipes away tears, and forces a smile on her face. “Yes, let’s just enjoy ourselves today.”

When the visiting times draw to an end, the clocks ticking and ticking, a feeling similar to doom festers in Ran’s stomach. Shinichi glances up at her and his smile is bittersweet, an expression that reminds her just how much she both hates and loves him.

“I love you,” she says, and means it, even if it is quiet and he doesn’t hear it. She doesn’t repeat herself, not even when he questions it. Instead, she tells him that she’s never going to stop missing him, no matter how much time passes.

“Thank you,” Shinichi says, after a moment, “for giving up on me.”

Ran wants to laugh. She wants to tell him that she is not giving up. Not on him, never on him. Even if she cannot see him, even if he thinks she has, she will never stop trying to prove that he truly is good.

Instead, she nods.

She will let him think what he wants. If it makes things easier on him, then for now she will be the one who has finally given into his request, who has finally decided it is time to take a step and face reality. Ran does not tell him that this is not the way it is supposed to end.

“We’ll meet again,” Ran says, as she stands up. She grants him one last smile, “someday.”

Their fingers touch for a second, and then, there is only empty space between them.

It is not until she is outside that Ran dissolves into tears.

She falls to her knees on the grass and sobs until tears are staining her cheeks and the back of her hands. In the back of her mind she knows that she needs to catch the next shuttle bus down to the train station, but it doesn’t quite register in her mind - it is not urgent.

“Ran-san?”

The voice is male, and she recognises it, how couldn’t she? Turning up to look at him, Ran wipes away her tears and takes the hand that is offered to her.

“Saguru-kun.”

Saguru smiles at her. It’s not mocking, or pitiful, nor is it very happy. It’s the smile of a man who has realised that being weighed down by problems leads to nothing but aching bones and crushed spirits.

“I’m on my way to the train station,” he says, and he points to a car, driver sat in the front. “If you’re headed in the same direction, you’re welcome to join me. You don’t have to wait for the bus.”

Ran opens her mouth, readies herself to refuse. “I coul-”

“Actually,” Saguru interrupts before she can turn him down, “I was hoping that we could go over Kudo-kun’s case. I feel like maybe we’ve overlooked something.”

[bytjie5678]

Christmas at Baker Street

Two steps, key inserted, door unlocked, welcome home, John Watson.

I opened the door and closed it behind me, feeling my energy recharge in the presence of the familiar flat.

It was a bloody long day.

I was worried sick because Sherlock had disappeared. Again. Not even Lestrade could find him. He was gone for a whole week, and I had no idea where he was. I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep for the last two days, so I was completely exhausted as well. The worst part was that it was early October, the start of the coldest time of year.

The only thing I could do was hope that, wherever Sherlock was hiding, he would be clever enough to try and not freeze to death.

I trudged upstairs and came into the living room, only to find a tall and slender figure somehow fitting his whole mass into a thinking position on the armchair, making him look one third of his actual size.

“Where the bloody hell have you been?” I demanded, internally relieved to see him sitting there, but fuming on the outside.

“Looking for a case.” Sherlock replied casually, still not moving a muscle.

“Looking for- you mean you weren’t even on a case? You’ve just been wandering around London for the last seven days?”

“That about sums it up, yes.”

I shook my head, striding over to where the other man was sitting. Dark circles ran around his eyes, indicating how exhausted he was. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold. I grabbed Sherlock’s icy wrist and tugged up the sleeve, checking for needle marks.

“Oh for God’s sake, John, I’m clean!” He declared in an irritable voice. I confirmed the absence of needle marks and nicotine patches to fit with Sherlock’s occasional honesty.

I suddenly felt a prick in my nose, and only then noticed the horrid smell coming from Sherlock.

“I think you should take a bath.” I stated simply. I left Sherlock on the chair and went to prepare him one.

When the bath was full, I returned to the living room, seeing Sherlock in the exact same position I left him. “I’m going to get some chinese takeout. Meanwhile, you can go get yourself warm and cleaned up.” I announced, already turning to leave.

“Why should I?” Sherlock challenged, and I didn’t even bother turning back to answer him.

“One, because you smell like death, and two, I’m a doctor. I happen to understand and care a lot about personal hygiene.” I retorted over my shoulder and left without another word.

Damn him.

Damn him and his clever antics.

I got three takeaway meals, two of which I was going to feed to Sherlock, because I could see he was as hungry as a homeless man.

I returned to the flat, and found that Sherlock was still in his chair.

I dropped the bag on the kitchen table, and went back towards him. “Well come on then. If you’re not taking a bath now, we can just as well eat.” I said and ushered him to the kitchen.

Sherlock hesitantly took a bite, then gradually started eating normally. He didn’t touch the second meal, but I was happy that he finished the first.

“Alright, now go take a bath.” I instructed and started clearing away the plates. Sherlock again hesitated, but left without complaint.

Only minutes later, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket.

John, I require a duck.

-SH

I read it once, then twice. I blinked. “A duck? Seriously?” I mumbled and I typed a reply.

For what would you need a duck? And why do you have your phone in the bath?

-JW

I heard the message go through to Sherlock’s phone in the bathroom.

It is best not to question it. I have a rubber duck in my bedside cabinet, and I need you to fetch it for me.

-SH

I sighed with exasperation. If he needs a duck, I’ll get him his ruddy duck. As long as he gets rid of that awful stench.

The duck was exactly where he described it to be, and I knocked on the bathroom door.

“Who is it?” I heard him say in a bored voice.

“The queen. Who do you think it is?” I replied sarcastically. “Come in.”

I opened the door and felt a wave of humidity hit my face as I entered.

“Here’s your du- what- you didn’t even undress?”

“Why should I? This is comfortable. And I’m washing my clothes in the process.”

“For God’s sake Sherlock, that’s what laundry is for! That’s it, I’m taking this into my own hands. Climb out and take everything off. I don’t want to see a sock left on your foot.” I started rolling up my sleeves, prepared to wash him like a dog if I had to.

“Oh, so you’re going to bathe me now?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

“What are you, my nanny? Don’t be ridiculous, John.”

“Well you seem incapable of taking care of yourself.”

“I can take care of myself!”

“But you don’t.”

Sherlock stayed silent after that. I went out so he could undress, and when I reentered he was naked in the bathtub with a sulky expression on his face. As a doctor I was completely unfazed by his nudity, so I tugged my sleeves up higher.

“That’s better.” I stated, grabbing some shampoo. I took a seat on the edge of the bathtub and started rubbing it into his thick, greasy auburn curls, massaging out all the built up dirt and oil from the last week.

I then took a spongeful soap and began washing his body. He sat perfectly still as I cleaned his arms, legs, chest, and back. His back was the worst to look at.

His ribs were more pronounced and stood out under his skin, and old gut-wrenching scars ran all over his back, each one a different shape and size.

“Sherlock, where did you get all these scars?” I asked quietly, running a hand over them. “It was from when I went undercover.” He said shortly, as if wanting to drop the subject. I didn’t ask him anything further.

When he was finished, I left the room so he could dry himself. I wasted no time putting on my pajamas, since the thought of sleep seemed to become increasingly tempting to me.

Sherlock put on his pajamas as well and went to bed without a word. I had no energy left to do anything else, so I climbed into bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

Hours later, I woke up to someone knocking on the door. “Come in.” I said groggily, turning on the bedside lamp. 01:33 AM read the alarm clock.

A boquet of jet black curls rolled in from the other side of the door, followed by a clever head and sharp face. A pair of restlessly blue eyes stared at me. “Sherlock, what now?”

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“You mean you can’t sleep.”

“No, I… Yes.” He admitted, rubbing his eyes irritably.

“And you think I can solve this problem?”

“Yes.”

To be quite honest I didn’t actually expect him answer like that, and it caught me by surprise. “Wha- how?”

“Human companionship often helps to fix sleeping patterns. I think that sleeping in the same bed as you can fix my sleeping problem, John.” He replied honestly.

I sighed. Not even sitting up, I patted the other side of the bed as an indication for him to climb in.

The tall creature shuffled closer and flopped into the bed, his back facing me. I turned off the lamp the moment he was settled. I lay still for a few minutes, listening to Sherlock’s uneven breaths, and finally fell asleep.

The next morning when I woke up, Sherlock was already out of bed. I walked into the kitchen, and found him making breakfast with miss Hudson. “Good morning, John.” He said in a cheery voice, and turned around with an inviting cup of coffee in his hand.

“Um, good morning.” I replied, taking a seat and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “Sleep well, miss Hudson?” I asked, and she smiled at me with a kind face.

“Oh yes. I had simply the loveliest dream.”

A few days passed, and neither I nor Sherlock spoke about the fact that we slept together one night, but when said day was over and we were both back in the flat, Sherlock asked me if he could sleep in my bed again.

I felt a little jump for joy when he asked me, because it did feel nice to be in the same bed as him, and it did seem to fix both our sleeping patterns.

I woke up with the same routine, to find Sherlock already up and awake.

I could easily see how his physical health was improving. But his mental health was a different case. He was biting something back, keeping himself from saying something, and it was driving him mad.

He started asking me more and more often to sleep in my bed, until it gradually became a nightly routine for us to sleep together. We never spoke about this outside of the flat.

It became so patterned that Sherlock didn’t even ask anymore, and just strolled in when he was ready to go to bed.

One night I woke up to find Sherlock out of bed. I heard no sounds from the bathroom, so I became paranoid that he ran away again. I quickly threw on my bathrobe since the flat was bloody cold, and moved to find him.

I checked his room only to find the duvet missing. Did he take it for warmth? I went to check the living room next.

I heaved a sigh of relief when I found him sitting before the window, wrapped in his duvet and staring out at the night sky.

I shuffled closer to him and sat down next to him. “I thought you weren’t interested in space.” I murmured with a smirk.

Sherlock looked over to me, his eyes the colour of a nebula, and raised a brow. “Just because I’m not interested in space, does not mean I cannot appreciate its beauty.” He replied softly, echoeing those same words he used so many years ago. I nodded. “Fair enough.”

Sherlock moved an arm with his duvet, indicating for me to come closer. I shuffled against him as his arm wrapped around my shoulder, sharing his body heat with me. He leaned his head onto my shoulder, and I rested my head on his.

“Tell me about the stars, John.”

“But I thought you deleted all the data of space from your head?”

“I’m not saying I’m going to bother remembering it, but I want to listen to you talking about it.” He said, and I felt heat crawl up my neck and tint my ears red.

And so I started to tell him about the stars. Everything I knew about them. How they shine so bright, how they keep burning for millions of years, how the visible ones are specially arranged to create beautiful constellations, which was fascinating since the whole galaxy is constantly spiralling around the giant black hole in the center, and how big and vast the universe was.

Soon Sherlock fell asleep to the sound of my voice, and I watched the sleeping figure, with his lips slightly parted. His eyelids were gently concealing his beautiful, intelligent eyes, like the curtains of a stage hiding the masterpiece of a performance behind them, and his curls were messily covering his forehead. In this very dim and soft light, I couldn’t help but find him quite graceful.

Smiling at the light snores he made, I pressed a soft kiss to his hairline, feeling my eyelids grow heavy. Eventually I fell asleep against him.

I woke up the next morning to find myself in the bed, and not on the floor. Sherlock was already up and busying himself with experiments in the kitchen. Did he carry me to the bed? Did I dream the whole thing? The extra duvet on the bed convinced me otherwise.

Neither one of us ever spoke about this, but I knew we both remembered it quite well. And so, the cycle continued normally of sleeping in the same bed. The days of solving cases and keeping Sherlock busy were just as normal. I knew he had feelings for Molly, so I tried my best to keep it platonic.

Although, I started to wonder how long this would last… Would we continue this? Would we stop this? Would we take it a step further? Could this develop into something new? Am I going mad?

These questions kept on bouncing around in my head each night like an obnoxious child in a theatre, but I didn’t dare ask. Pretty soon though, Christmas eve rolled around and my questions were answered.

Lestrade was hosting Christmas dinner, and Sherlock and I went together. We started having an argument about Sherlock keeping himself locked up in his feelings. We kept bickering all the way up to the front door.

“But Sherlock, you can’t possibly expect me to believe that Molly’s feelings have gone to waste!”

“John, how much is it going to take to convince you that I’m not into Molly? The woman is not my taste. Is Irene Adler not enough evidence for you?”

“Why are you always so stubborn? Give the girl a chance! Why don’t you-” I couldn’t say anymore because Sherlock’s warm lips were crashed against mine, kissing me furiously.

His hands were cupping my face and he moved against my lips in a smooth arch that set my nerves on fire. I had no idea what to do, but I found an overwhelming sense of desire coursing through my veins.

By the time I started to kiss back, Sherlock broke away, his hands still cupping my face. “That’s why.” He stated softly and simply, dropping his hands to his sides, and leaving me speechless.

Sherlock shook his coat back into position, opened the door and greeted everyone as if nothing had happened. I was left standing at the front door in a bewildered, sexed-up state.

Only then, when I looked up to somehow try and absorb what just happened, did I notice the bush of Mistletoe hanging above the door.

Did the bastard just-

The rest of the evening went normally, but Sherlock and I didn’t speak a word with each other.

When the night came to an end and Lestrade had a little too much to drink, we took a cab home and went to bed. Sherlock in his own bed.

I woke up on Christmas morning to see Sherlock sitting at his edge of the bed, as if contemplating something. He was waiting for me to wake up.

“John, you wanted to know how I got these scars…” He said in a tone that indicated how much he was aching to say this.

“Well, yes, I did, but… You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” I said reproachfully and inched closer.

“No, no, I need to tell you. Honesty is an important factor in a relationship like ours. When I was pretending to be dead, I untangled Moriarty’s criminal network. This you know of. I tracked down and eliminated anyone who could have been a threat. To Lestrade, to miss Hudson, to you…”

Sherlock paused for a long while, in which I sat closer to his back. I didn’t know if he was aware of my movements, but he continued to speak. He told me, in detail, of how he was tortured when captured, demanded information, and whipped when he refused to speak.

“Show me.” I replied softly, and he did. He slowly pulled off his shirt. I approached his scarred back and carefully laid a hand between his shoulder blades. I traced one of his scars and felt him tense up at my touch.

“All of these, I did it all, I took it all for you.” He said carefully. My heart nearly beat out of my chest at these words. “God, Sherlock.” I whispered.

“But I’m afraid to admit that there have been consequences to my actions. There are so many people who died because of me. I’m… I’m practically… a monster.” He said, on the verge of tears. This man was breaking down and I needed to help him rebuild himself.

Before he finished speaking I was at the other side of the bed, crouching before him. I cupped his face in my hands and stared straight into his ocean blue eyes.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, don’t you dare reduce yourself to such worthless words. You are one of the most beautiful people I have ever known. All the things I can tell about you… The selfless scars on your back, the ridiculously prominent curls on your head, your deep and intelligent voice when rambling on with your deductions, the smiles you make when you think no one’s looking, I…”

I didn’t know I was ready to say the words, but they came so much easier than I expected. I knew that Sherlock kissed me last night for a reason, be it a way to make a confession or a way to make me shut up.

“I… God, Sherlock, I love you.” I blurted out, my gaze constantly shifting between his blue eyes. Sherlock was completely silent for a few seconds, scaring me into thinking I said something wrong.

But then, the unexpected happened. Just as I opened my mouth to say something, to take it all back, the smooth and warm lips of Sherlock Holmes brushed against mine once more and planted a much softer kiss on my lips. This time I was ready, and I started kissing him back. His hand moved up and gently caressed my cheek.

Our lips made a sound when we parted. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that…” He whispered, his colourful irises gazing straight into my eyes.

My lips were still tingling from the kiss, and I was more than ready for another one. Our foreheads were pressed together and I felt his light breath tingling on my skin.

“How- how long?” I asked in my flustered state. Sherlock paused.

“The day you reacted differently to my deductions than others, calling them amazing instead of rude.”

And slowly I came to realise that it- “That was the day we first met.” I said. “I know.” He replied softly, and we both giggled ourselves silly.

This time, I moved in and pressed my lips against his, harder. Sparks erupted in my chest, and I felt adrenaline rush through my veins.

Our lips moved against each other in soft, tender strokes, nostrils flaring for breath and our heart rates accelerated. He kissed me slowly and sweetly, as if trying to absorb, analyze and memorise each and every little detail.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless. Panting against each other’s faces, we started laughing again. We laughed for a solid five minutes before deciding to make breakfast.

I jumped up from the bed and jogged to the kitchen. I cracked a pair of eggs into a pan and started frying them, when I felt two strong arms quickly wrap around my waist and lift me, causing me to jump in fright. His warm chest breathed against my back as he whispered in my ear. “Merry Christmas, John.” He said and pecked my cheek.

“You arse, I’m going to burn breakfast!” I scolded him, but he just chuckled with his deep voice.

“I’m guessing that we are… What others may call… Lovers?”

“Let’s go with… Together?”

“Boyfriends?”

“A couple?”

“A couple. Perfect.”

[justanotherbandomdevotee]

Title- The Universe Hates Me.

A Brendon Urie One Shot.

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Pairing- Brendon Urie+ Original Character.

Era- Too Weird To Live, Too Rare To Die.

Word Count- 2,701

Warnings-

Angst.

Pretention.

Mentions Of Drug Abuse.

Unrequited Love.

Horribly Written.

 Terribly Long.

Trying Too Hard

!�� �*

A/N-

This wasn’t requested or anything, i just felt like writing something angst-y. It’s not as good as I imagined it to be. Feel free to leave criticism and point out my mistakes. 

Disclaimer-

This is a work of fiction based on real events. I only own the Original Character. I do not know what happened in Cape Town.

-Sentient Potato. 

“Do you, Sarah Orzechowski, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love him and cherish him in sickness and health, until death parts you?” The evangelist asked the beautiful girl in white who nodded and uttered a soft ‘I do’. Her nude lips framed her perfect teeth and were the supporting stars of her award winning smile. Her eyes were big, blue, and innocent. He had always been a sucker for long legged, petite waisted, innocent angels, which is why I always wondered what he saw in me.

The evangelist repeated his question to the man in the black tuxedo who was smiling so big that I couldn’t even hate him for it. He was so happy, something that he wasn’t back when I knew him. He nodded and repeated the black haired angel’s words.

The sun was pricking my bare shoulders, ringed ears, and bare neck when the wedding venue erupted in cheers because the couple was kissing. People were clapping, children were giggling, somewhere far away, fan girls were crying their smudged eye liner eyes out, and the attending women were crying, trying very hard to not ruin their makeup that was worth more than my entire existence, but then again, my existence was pretty pointless and forgettable. The couple separated their lips and gazed at each other like the bag of tissues, cartilages, bones, veins, and arteries in front of them was the most genuinely fascinating thing in the world and they couldn’t believe that they were lucky enough to be the other’s one and only. It was sweet, so sweet that it triggered my nonexistent diabetes.

The open field, where the vows and ‘I do’s’ were exchanged smelled like fresh flowers, strong colognes, aftershaves, expensive perfumes that sat on the dressing tables of expensive houses as a show piece, and heartache. I would apologize for my blunt description and borderline bitter tone, but that’s who I am. So, I won’t.

The couple walked down the strip of green grass that served as a walkway and still had a few stray pink petals on it. There it was again, that smile that I fell in love with all those years ago. That smile that reached his ‘typical brown’ brown eyes, every part of his face lit up, and his jaw became more prominent. That smile made it impossible for me to hate him, I tried to imagine him with a frown on his lips, but my brain stuttered and died. It decided to focus on that breath taking smile of his instead.

The couple disappeared from my line of sight after a while, but I can’t blame them, I am tragically short.

The attendees started moving towards the golden handled brown double doors that had intricate wooden patterns on its chipped surface with a general sense of hurriedness. I walked across the lawn leisurely, like I had nothing else better to do. To be fair, I didn’t.

I moved from the sweltering heat of April and into the air conditioned insides of the banquet hall. I lost my breath when I noticed the insides. With pale pink walls, white marbled floors, high ceilings, low lying, intricate and grand chandeliers, and a wall of three giant windows that were functioning as the only light source it looked like a ballroom from a Disney movie. I was in awe. That’s the only adjective that I could think of to describe my feelings. I guess Brendon took Monica Gellar’s words to heart and went all out to give Sarah her perfect wedding.

The circular tables with pale yellow and stark white table cloths and a centre piece of pink and red flowers arrangement hosted the guests. At the north wall, the groom and the bride sat with their posse, the west wall was the window wall and had the buffet line, the east wall had a bar, and the south wall housed the entrance. I could hear the clicks of my heels as I walked across the wooden floor in search for my seat.

I found mine and it was in the groom’s peripheral vision line, great. I was hoping to have one awkward eye contact and one forced conversation and I was done with both of them. I had caught him just before he had to walk down the aisle and wait next to evangelist and shared an intense and awkward eye contact for 10 seconds when the evangelist asked to come forward and recite any qualms that one might have regarding the holy matrimony of Brendon and Sarah.

We had always joked about how he would put on a fake wedding as a front and burst in like his entrance from ‘I write sins not tragedies’ music video during that part of our wedding.

He and I were always super cheesy and dramatic. I suppose the universe gets off my pain. No wonder we don’t get along.

I stared at the cursive font of my place card as the best man and the maid of honor gave their respective speeches with clichéd versions of Brendon and Sarah’s already fairytale-esque love story. I was fingering the rim of the champagne flute that was in front of me when I felt a presence next to me.

“Is this seat reserved?” Asked a sharply dressed Spencer and I couldn’t help but smile at his adorableness. “No.” I replied without looking up at him. The chair scarped back and Spencer placed himself on it. He was facing me, of course he was. He wanted to talk, ‘Wow! You are full of observations and deductions today, Sherlock.’ The voice in my head spoke, more like sneered.

“How are you?” Spencer asked after a short and awkward silence. ‘Suck it up and talk to him. He never wronged you.’ The voice reasoned. Now it uses its gentle tone, great. I closed my eyes and forced myself to shut up. “I am well. What about you?” I spoke after opening my eyes. I could feel my mascara coated eyelashes separating from each other as I did that. From my peripheral vision, I could see Spencer smiling. He ducked his chin into his chest and scratched the nape of his neck. “I’ve been better, to be honest.” Spencer spoke as he pulled his head up. That was Spencer for you, he was brutally honest and never sugarcoated anything, especially when it came to him.

“Still brutally honest, I see.” I noted and finally, finally averted my eyes from the flute and my clear coat covered pointer finger’s nail and chanced a glance in his general direction. “Still your cherry self, does it ever get tiring, being that happy?” Spencer sassed and for the first time since my arrival to the public display of my heart break, I laughed.

Spencer smiled a mega watt smile when he heard me laughing and placed his right elbow of the table, causing the table cloth to crease, and leaned against it. Spencer loved making me laugh, he had admitted to it on countless occasions. “God, I still love that laugh.” Spencer remarked.

“Don’t let Hayley hear that.” I replied without missing a beat and leaned back to rest my back against the back rest of my chair with a smile on my dark red lips. This was us, we were chilled, easy going, we were basically hippies without the psychedelic drugs flowing through our veins. Well, no drugs flowed through my veins anyway.

“I, uh, I and Hayley broke up.” Spencer spoke after he recovered from the shock of hearing his ex’s name. “Oh,” My stumped brain managed to get the exclamation past my lips. “I, um, I am sorry.” I paused and gulped as I uttered my apology. Spencer smiled his smile that caused millions of fan girls to swoon and die in the same comment on social media everywhere and shrugged it off. “It doesn’t matter. I am perfectly happy now.” Spencer smiled a close lipped smile to punctuate his sentence. His eyes were twinkling with happiness. His beard dotted, pale cheeks were colored a pale red due to the sudden rush of blood. He seemed happy, really happy. The kind of happiness that one experiences when they are with someone whom they want to murder, but don’t cause they’ll miss the dead too much, he was in love, genuine, proper love.

“You know your right hand doesn’t count as a girlfriend, right?” I questioned in a joking manner and felt his knuckles bruising my bare upper arm. I moved to rub it, to soothe the supposed wound. “Oh stop it! It wasn’t even that hard.” Spencer commented after seeing my over the top antics, but his words held a weight of concern to them. Spencer was the elder brother that I deserved but not the one that I needed, I had Ryan to fill that department. He was my cousin, but he was still my brother.

“How is Ryan?” Spencer asked the dreaded question after asking me about Jon, his voice held pain and confusion.  I knew it was coming. I was prepared to face this question ever since I got the invitation 2 months ago, but now that it was actually happening in real life and not in my head during a steamy shower where I controlled both aspects of this difficult conversation, my heart started thudding and my mouth became dry as every answer took a flight.

That night in Cape Town had left its dark mark, of varying degrees, on all of us. Spencer lost one of his best friends and a brother. I lost my boyfriend and my friends, Jon lost 3 of his close friends, and Brendon lost his best friends and lover.

“He is doing well.” I lied through my teeth. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t tell him how utterly broken and sad Ryan is; how much he misses them.  How he cries himself to sleep every night because he misses them so much. I am, generally, a very sulky person, but I suck at delivering bad news. I am not built for it.

“You always were a shitty liar.”

 After speaking for a few more minutes, Spencer took his leave and Brendon replaced him. After exchanging pleasantries, congratulations, and quick summaries of our time apart, Brendon brought up the one topic that I had been trying to avoid all night, our past.

We didn’t have a clean break up, far from it actually. It was messy, almost brutal, words were exchanged, and insults thrown in the air. Our actions were less than graceful. We, also, never got closure.

Brendon sending me his wedding invite was the first time he had reached out to me in four years. “Brendon,” I started with a sigh, a pain started surging through my head. “No, wait, just hear me out.” Brendon practically pleaded, his words held a sense of urgency. A hundred and fifty people at this wedding and not one of them is wondering where the groom is. The universe really needs to stop getting off my pain.

“Look, things were said and actions were carried out and I just want you to know that I am not proud of the way I acted. I should’ve been more mature about it, but I was doing so many drugs back then that I couldn’t differentiate between right and wrong. I was horrible to you when I had no right to be horrible. You were extremely kind to me during our relationship and I treated you like shit after the release of fever and I am so sorry. You apologized after every single fight, you stayed up worrying about me all those nights when I stumbled through the front door late at night, you slept on the couch so many times, and sometimes, you didn’t sleep at all because the drugs were causing me to have hallucinations and I was scared and confused. You held my hand through everything for so, so long. You refused to believe that I was cheating on you when everyone was telling you that I was. Even when they showed you compelling evidence, you still refused because you trusted me so damn much, and I only broke that trust. I took your heart and poisoned it. I was a shitty human being back then. You said ‘I love you’ to me so many times and I never once said it back to you. I broke you, I damaged mentally and physically and, I just…” And at this point of his rant-apology, Brendon’s voice cracked, his eyes filled with tears, and he took a shuddering breath through his quivering lips to stop himself from crying. He ran a hand through his hair after ducking his chin into his chest. He was breathing heavily, hyperventilating.

For the second time in 7 years, I saw the broken Brendon Urie, the raw, scared version underneath all of the pretence and the faux primadonna.

“Brendon,” I started as I uncrossed my legs. On numb legs, I got up and crouched in front of the shaking groom. “Bren,” I placed my hand on his right knee and he placed his hands on top of mine. “I am sorry, I am so sorry for being such an ass to you. I am sorry for never saying I love you to you.” Brendon burst and practically bawled his words out. He was shaking uncontrollably and his tears were streaming down his clean shaven cheeks. His eyes were red rimmed and his lips looked darker than usual, probably because he had eaten his dead skin off by biting his lips out of nervousness, an old habit of his. His condition caused my heart to ache.

I had hated Brendon for so long that his very name ignited a ball of fury in my core. I was so bitter, but crouching here in front of him on the night of his wedding, I decided to forgive him.  

“Brendon, I forgive you.” I spoke in the most convincing tone that I could muster through the crack in my voice. “Do you?” He asked in a soft and broken voice. He looked at me through the lashes that curtained his brown eyes. He looked so tired and broken. I nodded as my eyes filled with tears. I pressed my lips together and worded it out. “I do, I forgive you for everything.” A weight lifted off my chest and suddenly I could breathe properly, which was weird considering that Brendon had just pulled me into a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you, fuck, thank you so much.” Brendon mumbled into my shoulder. I smiled against his tuxedo clad collar bone.

Sure I still loved him and watching him with Sarah hurt, but I couldn’t control it. He is happy with her and that should bring me enough solace. We pulled away from each other and smiled after taking in each other’s crying faces. It felt good. It feels like I was drowning and someone came along and finally saved me.

“I should go and have my first dance with my beautiful wife.” Brendon said and started getting up. I got up as well, my numb legs and knees threatened to drop me like a bag a potatoes, and moved aside after making a remark about how I am taller than Brendon in heels. He whined a little and lightly punched me. “She really is beautiful, by the way.” I said and he smiled before he started retreating.

Years and years of negativity and hatred and all it took was a tear jerking rant to find peace, maybe the universe didn’t hate me after all. “I did love you at one point, I just never told you cause I was a piece of shit back then.” Brendon remarked halfway through his retreat.

The ballroom was empty. No wonder people didn’t come up to us, everyone was out on the fairy lights lit patio, waiting for the first dance to be shared between the bride and the groom. I smiled a small, sad smile.

“I’ll always love you.”

You know what, I spoke too soon, the universe does hate me.

J��K#�